Bot-S: The Complete Works of Plato

There have been many difficulties already, but
this will be the greatest of them, and the most disagreeable to the many. Still I cannot
but say what appears to me to be right and true, Cleinias.
Cleinias. Certainly.
Athenian. He who imagines that he can give laws for the public conduct of states, while
he leaves the private life of citizens wholly to take care of itself; who thinks that
individuals may pass the day as they please, and that there is no necessity of order in all
things; he, I say, who gives up the control of their private lives, and supposes that they
will conform to law in their common and public life, is making a great mistake. Why
have I made this remark? Why, because I am going to enact that the bridegrooms should
live at the common tables, just as they did before marriage. This was a singularity when
first enacted by the legislator in your parts of the world, Megillus and Cleinias, as I
should suppose, on the occasion of some war or other similar danger, which caused the
passing of the law, and which would be likely to occur in thinly–peopled places, and in
times of pressure. But when men had once tried and been accustomed to a common
table, experience showed that the institution greatly conduced to security; and in some
such manner the custom of having common tables arose among you.
Cleinias. Likely enough.
Athenian. I said that there may have been singularity and danger in imposing such a
custom at first, but that now there is not the same difficulty. There is, however, another
institution which is the natural sequel to this, and would be excellent, if it existed
anywhere, but at present it does not. The institution of which I am about to speak is not
easily described or executed; and would be like the legislator “combing wool into the
fire,” as people say, or performing any other impossible and useless feat.
Cleinias. What is the cause, Stranger, of this extreme hesitation?
Athenian. You shall hear without any fruitless loss of time. That which has law and
order in a state is the cause of every good, but that which is disordered or ill–ordered is
often the ruin of that which is well–ordered; and at this point the argument is now
waiting. For with you, Cleinias and Megillus, the common tables of men are, as I said, a
heaven–born and admirable institution, but you are mistaken in leaving the women
unregulated by law. They have no similar institution of public tables in the light of day,
and just that part of the human race which is by nature prone to secrecy and stealth on
account of their weakness—I mean the female sex—has been left without regulation by
the legislator, which is a great mistake. And, in consequence of this neglect, many things
have grown lax among you, which might have been far better, if they had been only
regulated by law; for the neglect of regulations about women may not only be regarded
as a neglect of half the entire matter, but in proportion as woman’s nature is inferior to
that of men in capacity for virtue, in that degree the consequence of such neglect is more
than twice as important. The careful consideration of this matter, and the arranging and
ordering on a common principle of all our institutions relating both to men and women,
greatly conduces to the happiness of the state. But at present, such is the unfortunate
condition of mankind, that no man of sense will even venture to speak of common tables
in places and cities in which they have never been established at all; and how can any
one avoid being utterly ridiculous, who attempts to compel women to show in public
how much they eat and drink? There is nothing at which the sex is more likely to take
offence. For women are accustomed to creep into dark places, and when dragged out
into the light they will exert their utmost powers of resistance, and be far too much for
the legislator. And therefore, as I said before, in most places they will not endure to have
the truth spoken without raising a tremendous outcry, but in this state perhaps they
may. And if we may assume that our whole discussion about the state has not been mere
idle talk, I should like to prove to you, if you will consent to listen, that this institution is
good and proper; but if you had rather not, I will refrain.
Cleinias. There is nothing which we should both of us like better, Stranger, than to hear
what you have to say.
Athenian. Very good; and you must not be surprised if I go back a little, for we have
plenty of leisure, and there is nothing to prevent us from considering in every point of
view the subject of law.
Cleinias. True.
Athenian. Then let us return once more to what we were saying at first. Every man
should understand that the human race either had no beginning at all, and will never
have an end, but always will be and has been; or that it began an immense while ago.
Cleinias. Certainly.
Athenian. Well, and have there not been constitutions and destructions of states, and all
sorts of pursuits both orderly and disorderly, and diverse desires of meats and drinks
always, and in all the world, and all sorts of changes of the seasons in which animals
may be expected to have undergone innumerable transformations of themselves?
Cleinias. No doubt.
Athenian. And may we not suppose that vines appeared, which had previously no
existence, and also olives, and the gifts of Demeter and her daughter, of which one
Triptolemus was the minister, and that, before these existed, animals took to devouring
each other as they do still?
Cleinias. True.
Athenian. Again, the practice of men sacrificing one another still exists among many
nations; while, on the other hand, we hear of other human beings who did not even
venture to taste the flesh of a cow and had no animal sacrifices, but only cakes and fruits
dipped in honey, and similar pure offerings, but no flesh of animals; from these they
abstained under the idea that they ought not to eat them, and might not stain the altars
of the Gods with blood. For in those days men are said to have lived a sort of Orphic life,
having the use of all lifeless things, but abstaining from all living things.
Cleinias. Such has been the constant tradition, and is very likely true.
Athenian. Some one might say to us, What is the drift of all this?
Cleinias. A very pertinent question, Stranger.
Athenian. And therefore I will endeavour, Cleinias, if I can, to draw the natural
inference.
Cleinias. Proceed.
Athenian. I see that among men all things depend upon three wants and desires, of
which the end is virtue, if they are rightly led by them, or the opposite if wrongly. Now
these are eating and drinking, which begin at birth—every animal has a natural desire
for them, and is violently excited, and rebels against him who says that he must not
satisfy all his pleasures and appetites, and get rid of all the corresponding pains—and
the third and greatest and sharpest want and desire breaks out last, and is the fire of
sexual lust, which kindles in men every species of wantonness and madness. And these
three disorders we must endeavour to master by the three great principles of fear and
law and right reason; turning them away from that which is called pleasantest to the
best, using the Muses and the Gods who preside over contests to extinguish their
increase and influx.
But to return:—After marriage let us speak of the birth of children, and after their birth
of their nurture and education. In the course of discussion the several laws will be
perfected, and we shall at last arrive at the common tables. Whether such associations
are to be confined to men, or extended to women also, we shall see better when we
approach and take a nearer view of them; and we may then determine what previous
institutions are required and will have to precede them. As I said before we shall see
them more in detail, and shall be better able to lay down the laws which are proper or
suited to them.
Cleinias. Very true.
Athenian. Let us keep in mind the words which have now been spoken; for hereafter
there may be need of them.
Cleinias. What do you bid us keep in mind?
Athenian. That which we comprehended under the three words—first, eating, secondly,
drinking, thirdly, the excitement of love.
Cleinias. We shall be sure to remember, Stranger.
Athenian. Very good. Then let us now proceed to marriage, and teach persons in what
way they shall beget children, threatening them, if they disobey, with the terrors of the
law.
Cleinias. What do you mean?
Athenian. The bride and bridegroom should consider that they are to produce for the
state the best and fairest specimens of children which they can. Now all men who are
associated any action always succeed when they attend and give their mind to what they
are doing, but when they do not give their mind or have no mind, they fail; wherefore let
the bridegroom give his mind to the bride and to the begetting of children, and the bride
in like manner give her mind to the bridegroom, and particularly at the time when their
children are not yet born. And let the women whom we have chosen be the overseers of
such matters, and let them in whatever number, large or small, and at whatever time the
magistrates may command, assemble every day in the temple of Eileithyia during a third
part of the day, and being there assembled, let them inform one another of any one
whom they see, whether man or woman, of those who are begetting children,
disregarding the ordinances given at the time when the nuptial sacrifices and
ceremonies were performed. Let the begetting of children and the supervision of those
who are begetting them continue ten years and no longer, during the time when
marriage is fruitful. But if any continue without children up to this time, let them take
counsel with their kindred and with the women holding the office of overseer and be
divorced for their mutual benefit. If, however, any dispute arises about what is proper
and for the interest of either party, they shall choose ten of the guardians of the law and
abide by their permission and appointment. The women who preside over these matters
shall enter into the houses of the young, and partly by admonitions and partly by threats
make them give over their folly and error: if they persist, let the women go and tell the
guardians of the law, and the guardians shall prevent them. But if they too cannot
prevent them, they shall bring the matter before the people; and let them write up their
names and make oath that they cannot reform such and such an one; and let him who is
thus written up, if he cannot in a court of law convict those who have inscribed his
name, be deprived of the privileges of a citizen in the following respects:—let him not go
to weddings nor to the thanksgivings after the birth of children; and if he go, let any one
who pleases strike him with impunity; and let the same regulations hold about women:
let not a woman be allowed to appear abroad, or receive honour, or go to nuptial and
birthday festivals, if she in like manner be written up as acting disorderly and cannot
obtain a verdict. And if, when they themselves have done begetting children according to
the law, a man or woman have connection with another man or woman who are still
begetting children, let the same penalties be inflicted upon them as upon those who are
still having a family; and when the time for procreation has passed let the man or
woman who refrains in such matters be held in esteem, and let those who do not refrain
be held in the contrary of esteem—that is to say, disesteem. Now, if the greater part of
mankind behave modestly, the enactments of law may be left to slumber; but, if they are
disorderly, the enactments having been passed, let them be carried into execution. To
every man the first year is the beginning of life, and the time of birth ought to be written
down in the temples of their fathers as the beginning of existence to every child, whether
boy or girl. Let every phratria have inscribed on a whited wall the names of the
successive archons by whom the years are reckoned. And near to them let the living
members of the phratria be inscribed, and when they depart life let them be erased. The
limit of marriageable ages for a woman shall be from sixteen to twenty years at the
longest—for a man, from thirty to thirty–five years; and let a woman hold office at forty,
and a man at thirty years. Let a man go out to war from twenty to sixty years, and for a
woman, if there appear any need to make use of her in military service, let the time of
service be after she shall have brought forth children up to fifty years of age; and let
regard be had to what is possible and suitable to each.
BOOK VII
And now, assuming children of both sexes to have been born, it will be proper for us to
consider, in the next place, their nurture and education; this cannot be left altogether
unnoticed, and yet may be thought a subject fitted rather for precept and admonition
than for law. In private life there are many little things, not always apparent, arising out
of the pleasures and pains and desires of individuals, which run counter to the intention
of the legislator, and make the characters of the citizens various and dissimilar:—this is
an evil in states; for by reason of their smallness and frequent occurrence, there would
be an unseemliness and want of propriety in making them penal by law; and if made
penal, they are the destruction of the written law because mankind get the habit of
frequently transgressing the law in small matters. The result is that you cannot legislate
about them, and still less can you be silent. I speak somewhat darkly, but I shall
endeavour also to bring my wares into the light of day, for I acknowledge that at present
there is a want of clearness in what I am saying.
Cleinias. Very true.
Athenian. Stranger. Am I not right in maintaining that a good education is that which
tends most, to the improvement of mind and body?
Cleinias. Undoubtedly.
Athenian. And nothing can be plainer than that the fairest bodies are those which grow
up from infancy in the best and straightest manner?
Cleinias. Certainly.
Athenian. And do we not further observe that the first shoot of every living thing is by
far the greatest and fullest? Many will even contend that a man at twenty–five does not
reach twice the height which he attained at five.
Cleinias. True.
Athenian. Well, and is not rapid growth without proper and abundant exercise the
source endless evils in the body?
Cleinias. Yes.
Athenian. And the body should have the most exercise when it receives most
nourishment?
Cleinias. But, Stranger, are we to impose this great amount of exercise upon newly–born
infants?
Athenian. Nay, rather on the bodies of infants still unborn.
Cleinias. What do you mean, my good sir? In the process of gestation?
Athenian. Exactly. I am not at all surprised that you have never heard of this very
peculiar sort of gymnastic applied to such little creatures, which, although strange, I will
endeavour to explain to you.
Cleinias. By all means.
Athenian. The practice is more easy for us to understand than for you, by reason of
certain amusements which are carried to excess by us at Athens. Not only boys, but
often older persons, are in the habit of keeping quails and cocks, which they train to
fight one another. And they are far from thinking that the contests in which they stir
them up to fight with one another are sufficient exercise; for, in addition to this, they
carry them about tucked beneath their armpits, holding the smaller birds in their hands,
the larger under their arms, and go for a walk of a great many miles for the sake of
health, that is to say, not their own, health, but the health of the birds; whereby they
prove to any intelligent person, that all bodies are benefited by shakings and
movements, when they are moved without weariness, whether motion proceeds from
themselves, or is caused by a swing, or at sea, or on horseback, or by other bodies in
whatever way moving, and that thus gaining the mastery over food and drink, they are
able to impart beauty and health and strength. But admitting all this, what follows?
Shall we make a ridiculous law that the pregnant woman shall walk about and fashion
the embryo within as we fashion wax before it hardens, and after birth swathe the infant
for two years? Suppose that we compel nurses, under penalty of a legal fine, to be always
carrying the children somewhere or other, either to the temples, or into the country, or
to their relations, houses, until they are well able to stand, and to take care that their
limbs are not distorted by leaning on them when they are too young—they should
continue to carry them until the infant has completed its third year; the nurses should
be strong, and there should be more than one of them. Shall these be our rules, and shall
we impose a penalty for the neglect of them? No, no; the penalty of which we were
speaking will fall upon our own heads more than enough.
Cleinias. What penalty?
Athenian. Ridicule, and the difficulty of getting the feminine and servant–like
dispositions of the nurses to comply.
Cleinias. Then why was there any need to speak of the matter at all?
Athenian. The reason is that masters and freemen in states, when they hear of it, are
very likely to arrive at a true conviction that without due regulation of private life in
cities, stability in the laying down of laws is hardly to be expected; and he who makes
this reflection may himself adopt the laws just now mentioned, and, adopting them, may
order his house and state well and be happy.
Cleinias. Likely enough.
Athenian. And therefore let us proceed with our legislation until we have determined the
exercises which are suited to the souls of young children, in the same manner in which
we have begun to go through the rules relating to their bodies.
Cleinias. By all means.
Athenian. Let us assume, then, as a first principle in relation both to the body and soul
of very young creatures, that nursing and moving about by day and night is good for
them all, and that the younger they are, the more they will need it; infants should live, if
that were possible, as if they were always rocking at sea. This is the lesson which we may
gather from the experience of nurses, and likewise from the use of the remedy of motion
in the rites of the Corybantes; for when mothers want their restless children to go to
sleep they do not employ rest, but, on the contrary, motion—rocking them in their arms;
nor do they give them silence, but they sing to them and lap them in sweet strains; and
the Bacchic women are cured of their frenzy in the same manner by the use of the dance
and of music.
Cleinias. Well, Stranger, and what is the reason of this?
Athenian. The reason is obvious.
Cleinias. What?
Athenian. The affection both of the Bacchantes and of the children is an emotion of fear,
which springs out of an evil habit of the soul. And when some one applies external
agitation to affections of this sort, the motion coming from without gets the better of the
terrible and violent internal one, and produces a peace and calm in the soul, and quiets
the restless palpitation of the heart, which is a thing much to be desired, sending the
children to sleep, and making the Bacchantes, although they remain awake, to dance to
the pipe with the help of the Gods to whom they offer acceptable sacrifices, and
producing in them a sound mind, which takes the place of their frenzy. And, to express
what I mean in a word, there is a good deal to be said in favour of this treatment.
Cleinias. Certainly.
Athenian. But if fear has such a power we ought to infer from these facts, that every soul
which from youth upward has been familiar with fears, will be made more liable to fear,
and every one will allow that this is the way to form a habit of cowardice and not of
courage.
Cleinias. No doubt.
Athenian. And, on the other hand, the habit of overcoming, from our youth upwards, the
fears and terrors which beset us, may be said to be an exercise of courage.
Cleinias. True.
Athenian. And we may say that the use of exercise and motion in the earliest years of life
greatly contributes to create a part of virtue in the soul.
Cleinias. Quite true.
Athenian. Further, a cheerful temper, or the reverse, may be regarded as having much to
do with high spirit on the one hand, or with cowardice on the other.
Cleinias. To be sure.
Athenian. Then now we must endeavour to show how and to what extent we may, if we
please, without difficulty implant either character in the young.
Cleinias. Certainly.
Athenian. There is a common opinion, that luxury makes the disposition of youth
discontented and irascible and vehemently excited by trifles; that on the other hand
excessive and savage servitude makes men mean and abject, and haters of their kind,
and therefore makes them undesirable associates.
Cleinias. But how must the state educate those who do not as yet understand the
language of the country, and are therefore incapable of appreciating any sort of
instruction?
Athenian. I will tell you how:—Every animal that is born is wont to utter some cry, and
this is especially the case with man, and he is also affected with the inclination to weep
more than any other animal.
Cleinias. Quite true.
Athenian. Do not nurses, when they want to know what an infant desires, judge by these
signs?—when anything is brought to the infant and he is silent, then he is supposed to
be pleased, but, when he weeps and cries out, then he is not pleased. For tears and cries
are the inauspicious signs by which children show what they love and hate. Now the
time which is thus spent is no less than three years, and is a very considerable portion of
life to be passed ill or well.
Cleinias. True.
Athenian. Does not the discontented and ungracious nature appear to you to be full of
lamentations and sorrows more than a good man ought to be?
Cleinias. Certainly.
Athenian. Well, but if during these three years every possible care were taken that our
nursling should have as little of sorrow and fear, and in general of pain as was possible,
might we not expect in early childhood to make his soul more gentle and cheerful?
Cleinias. To be sure, Stranger—more especially if we could procure him a variety of
pleasures.
Athenian. There I can no longer agree, Cleinias: you amaze me. To bring him up in such
a way would be his utter ruin; for the beginning is always the most critical part of
education. Let us see whether I am right.
Cleinias. Proceed.
Athenian. The point about which you and I differ is of great importance, and I hope that
you, Megillus, will help to decide between us. For I maintain that the true life should
neither seek for pleasures, nor, on the other hand, entirely avoid pains, but should
embrace the middle state, which I just spoke of as gentle and benign, and is a state
which we by some divine presage and inspiration rightly ascribe to God. Now, I say, he
among men, too, who would be divine ought to pursue after this mean habit—he should
not rush headlong into pleasures, for he will not be free from pains; nor should we allow
any one, young or old, male or female, to be thus given any more than ourselves, and
least of all the newly–born infant, for in infancy more than at any other time the
character is engrained by habit. Nay, more, if I were not afraid of appearing to be
ridiculous, I would say that a woman during her year of pregnancy should of all women
be most carefully tended, and kept from violent or excessive pleasures and pains, and
should at that time cultivate gentleness and benevolence and kindness.
Cleinias. You need not, ask Megillus, Stranger, which of us has most truly spoken; for I
myself agree that all men ought to avoid the life of unmingled pain or pleasure, and
pursue always a middle course. And having spoken well, may I add that you have been
well answered?
Athenian. Very good, Cleinias; and now let us all three consider a further point.
Cleinias. What is it?
Athenian. That all the matters which we are now describing are commonly called by the
general name of unwritten customs, and what are termed the laws of our ancestors are
all of similar nature. And the reflection which lately arose in our minds, that we can
neither call these things laws, nor yet leave them unmentioned, is justified; for they are
the bonds of the whole state, and come in between the written laws which are or are
hereafter to be laid down; they are just ancestral customs of great antiquity, which, if
they are rightly ordered and made habitual, shield and preserve the previously existing
written law; but if they depart from right and fall into disorder, then they are like the
props of builders which slip away out of their Place and cause a universal ruin—one part
drags another down, and the fair super–structure falls because the old foundations are
undermined. Reflecting upon this, Cleinias, you ought to bind together the new state in
every possible way, omitting nothing, whether great or small, of what are called laws or
manners or pursuits, for by these means a city is bound together, and all these things are
only lasting when they depend upon one another; and, therefore, we must not wonder if
we find that many apparently trifling customs or usages come pouring in and
lengthening out our laws.
Cleinias. Very true: we are disposed to agree with you.
Athenian. Up to the age of three years, whether of boy or girl, if a person strictly carries
out our previous regulations and makes them a principal aim, he will do much for the
advantage of the young creatures. But at three, four, five, and even six years the childish
nature will require sports; now is the time to get rid of self–will in him, punishing him,
but not so as to disgrace him. We were saying about slaves, that we ought neither to add
insult to punishment so as to anger them, nor yet to leave them unpunished lest they
become self–willed; and a like rule is to be observed in the case of the free–born.
Children at that age have certain natural modes of amusement which they find out for
themselves when they meet. And all the children who are between the ages of three and
six ought to meet at the temples the villages, the several families of a village uniting on
one spot. The nurses are to see that the children behave properly and orderly—they
themselves and all their companies are to be under the control of twelve matrons, one
for each company, who are annually selected to inspect them from the women
previously mentioned, [i.e., the women who have authority over marriage], whom the
guardians of the law appoint. These matrons shall be chosen by the women who have
authority over marriage, one out of each tribe; all are to be of the same age; and let each
of them, as soon as she is appointed, hold office and go to the temples every day,
punishing all offenders, male or female, who are slaves or strangers, by the help of some
of the public slaves; but if any citizen disputes the punishment, let her bring him before
the wardens of the city; or, if there be no dispute, let her punish him herself. After the
age of six years the time has arrived for the separation of the sexes—let boys live with
boys, and girls in like manner with girls. Now they must begin to learn—the boys going
to teachers of horsemanship and the use of the bow, the javelin, and sling, and the girls
too, if they do not object, at any rate until they know how to manage these weapons, and
especially how to handle heavy arms; for I may note, that the practice which now
prevails is almost universally misunderstood.
Cleinias. In what respect?
Athenian. In that the right and left hand are supposed to be by nature differently suited
for our various uses of them; whereas no difference is found in the use of the feet and
the lower limbs; but in the use of the hands we are, as it were, maimed by the folly of
nurses and mothers; for although our several limbs are by nature balanced, we create a
difference in them by bad habit. In some cases this is of no consequence, as, for
example, when we hold the lyre in the left hand, and the plectrum in the right, but it is
downright folly to make the same distinction in other cases. The custom of the Scythians
proves our error; for they not only hold the bow from them with the left hand and draw
the arrow to them with their right, but use either hand for both purposes. And there are
many similar examples in charioteering and other things, from which we may learn that
those who make the left side weaker than the right act contrary to nature. In the case of
the plectrum, which is of horn only, and similar instruments, as I was saying, it is of no
consequence, but makes a great difference, and may be of very great importance to the
warrior who has to use iron weapons, bows and javelins, and the like; above all, when in
heavy armour, he has to fight against heavy armour. And there is a very great difference
between one who has learnt and one who has not, and between one who has been
trained in gymnastic exercises and one who has not been. For as he who is perfectly
skilled in the Pancratium or boxing or wrestling, is not unable to fight from his left side,
and does not limp and draggle in confusion when his opponent makes him change his
position, so in heavy–armed fighting, and in all other things if I am not mistaken, the
like holds—he who has these double powers of attack and defence ought not in any case
to leave them either unused or untrained, if he can help; and if a person had the nature
of Geryon or Briareus he ought to be able with his hundred hands to throw a hundred
darts. Now, the magistrates, male and female, should see to all these things, the women
superintending the nursing and amusements of the children, and the men
superintending their education, that all of them, boys and girls alike, may be sound
hand and foot, and may not, if they can help, spoil the gifts of nature by bad habits.
Education has two branches—one of gymnastic, which is concerned with the body, and
the other of music, which is designed for the improvement of the soul. And gymnastic
has also two branches—dancing and wrestling; and one sort of dancing imitates musical
recitation, and aims at preserving dignity and freedom, the other aims at producing
health, agility, and beauty in the limbs and parts of the body, giving the proper flexion
and extension to each of them, a harmonious motion being diffused everywhere, and
forming a suitable accompaniment to the dance. As regards wrestling, the tricks which
Antaeus and Cercyon devised in their systems out of a vain spirit of competition, or the
tricks of boxing which Epeius or Amycus invented, are useless and unsuitable for war,
and do not deserve to have much said about them; but the art of wrestling erect and
keeping free the neck and hands and sides, working with energy and constancy, with a
composed strength, and for the sake of health—these are always useful, and are not to be
neglected, but to be enjoined alike on masters and scholars, when we reach that part of
legislation; and we will desire the one to give their instructions freely, and the others to
receive them thankfully. Nor, again, must we omit suitable imitations of war in our
choruses; here in Crete you have the armed dances if the Curetes, and the
Lacedaemonians have those of the Dioscuri. And our virgin lady, delighting in the
amusement of the dance, thought it not fit to amuse herself with empty hands; she must
be clothed in a complete suit of armour, and in this attire go through the dance; and
youths and maidens should in every respect imitate her, esteeming highly the favour of
the Goddess, both with a view to the necessities of war, and to festive occasions: it will
be right also for the boys, until such time as they go out to war, to make processions and
supplications to all the Gods in goodly array, armed and on horseback, in dances, and
marches, fast or slow, offering up prayers to the Gods and to the sons of Gods; and also
engaging in contests and preludes of contests, if at all, with these objects: For these sorts
of exercises, and no others, are useful both in peace and war, and are beneficial alike to
states and to private houses. But other labours and sports and exercises of the body are
unworthy of freemen, O Megillus and Cleinias.
I have now completely described the kind of gymnastic which I said at first ought to be
described; if you know of any better, will you communicate your thoughts?
Cleinias. It is not easy, Stranger, to put aside these principles of gymnastic and wrestling
and to enunciate better ones.
Athenian. Now we must say what has yet to be said about the gifts of the Muses and of
Apollo: before, we fancied that we had said all, and that gymnastic alone remained; but
now we see clearly what points have been omitted, and should be first proclaimed; of
these, then, let us proceed to speak.
Cleinias. By all means.
Athenian. Let me tell you once more—although you have heard me say the same before
that caution must be always exercised, both by the speaker and by the hearer, about
anything that is very singular and unusual. For my tale is one, which many a man would
be afraid to tell, and yet I have a confidence which makes me go on.
Cleinias. What have you to say, Stranger?
Athenian. I say that in states generally no one has observed that the plays of childhood
have a great deal to do with the permanence or want of permanence in legislation. For
when plays are ordered with a view to children having the same plays, and amusing
themselves after the same manner, and finding delight in the same playthings, the more
solemn institutions of the state are allowed to remain undisturbed. Whereas if sports are
disturbed, and innovations are made in them, and they constantly change, and the
young never speak of their having the same likings, or the same established notions of
good and bad taste, either in the bearing of their bodies or in their dress, but he who
devises something new and out of the way in figures and colours and the like is held in
special honour, we may truly say that no greater evil can happen in a state; for he who
changes the sports is secretly changing the manners of the young, and making the old to
be dishonoured among them and the new to be honoured. And I affirm that there is
nothing which is a greater injury to all states than saying or thinking thus. Will you hear
me tell how great I deem the evil to be?
Cleinias. You mean the evil of blaming antiquity in states?
Athenian. Exactly.
Cleinias. If you are speaking of that, you will find in us hearers who are disposed to
receive what you say not unfavourably but most favourably.
Athenian. I should expect so.
Cleinias. Proceed.
Athenian. Well, then, let us give all the greater heed to one another’s words. The
argument affirms that any change whatever except from evil is the most dangerous of all
things; this is true in the case of the seasons and of the winds, in the management of our
bodies and the habits of our minds—true of all things except, as I said before, of the bad.
He who looks at the constitution of individuals accustomed to eat any sort of meat, or
drink any drink, or to do any work which they can get, may see that they are at first
disordered by them, but afterwards, as time goes on, their bodies grow adapted to them,
and they learn to know and like variety, and have good health and enjoyment of life; and
if ever afterwards they are confined again to a superior diet, at first they are troubled
with disorders, and with difficulty become habituated to their new food. A similar
principle we may imagine to hold good about the minds of men and the natures of their
souls. For when they have been brought up in certain laws, which by some Divine
Providence have remained unchanged during long ages, so that no one has any memory
or tradition of their ever having been otherwise than they are, then every one is afraid
and ashamed to change that which is established. The legislator must somehow find a
way of implanting this reverence for antiquity, and I would propose the following way:—
People are apt to fancy, as I was saying before, that when the plays of children are
altered they are merely plays, not seeing that the most serious and detrimental
consequences arise out of the change; and they readily comply with the child’s wishes
instead of deterring him, not considering that these children who make innovations in
their games, when they grow up to be men, will be different from the last generation of
children, and, being different, will desire a different sort of life, and under the influence
of this desire will want other institutions and laws; and no one of them reflects that
there will follow what I just now called the greatest of evils to states. Changes in bodily
fashions are no such serious evils, but frequent changes in the praise and censure of
manners are the greatest of evils, and require the utmost prevision.
Cleinias. To be sure.
Athenian. And now do we still hold to our former assertion, that rhythms and music in
general are imitations of good and evil characters in men? What say you?
Cleinias. That is the only doctrine which we can admit.
Athenian. Must we not, then, try in every possible way to prevent our youth from even
desiring to imitate new modes either in dance or song? nor must any one be allowed to
offer them varieties of pleasures.
Cleinias. Most true.
Athenian. Can any of us imagine a better mode of effecting this object than that of the
Egyptians?
Cleinias. What is their method?
Athenian. To consecrate every sort of dance or melody. First we should ordain
festivals—calculating for the year what they ought to be, and at what time, and in
honour of what Gods, sons of Gods, and heroes they ought to be celebrated; and, in the
next place, what hymns ought to be sung at the several sacrifices, and with what dances
the particular festival is to be honoured. This has to be arranged at first by certain
persons, and, when arranged, the whole assembly of the citizens are to offer sacrifices
and libations to the Fates and all the other Gods, and to consecrate the several odes to
gods and heroes: and if any one offers any other hymns or dances to any one of the
Gods, the priests and priestesses, acting in concert with the guardians of the law, shall,
with the sanction of religion and the law, exclude him, and he who is excluded, if he do
not submit, shall be liable all his life long to have a suit of impiety brought against him
by any one who likes.
Cleinias. Very good.
Athenian. In the consideration of this subject, let us remember what is due to ourselves.
Cleinias. To what are you referring?
Athenian. I mean that any young man, and much more any old one, when he sees or
hears anything strange or unaccustomed, does not at once run to embrace the paradox,
but he stands considering, like a person who is at a place where three paths meet, and
does not very well know his way—he may be alone or he may be walking with others,
and he will say to himself and them, “Which is the way?” and will not move forward
until he is satisfied that he is going right. And this is what we must do in the present
instance:—A strange discussion on the subject of law has arisen, which requires the
utmost consideration, and we should not at our age be too ready to speak about such
great matters, or be confident that we can say anything certain all in a moment.
Cleinias. Most true.
Athenian. Then we will allow time for reflection, and decide when we have given the
subject sufficient consideration. But that we may not be hindered from completing the
natural arrangement of our laws, let us proceed to the conclusion of them in due order;
for very possibly, if God will, the exposition of them, when completed, may throw light
on our present perplexity.
Cleinias. Excellent, Stranger; let us do as you propose.
Athenian. Let us then affirm the paradox that strains of music are our laws (nomoi), and
this latter being the name which the ancients gave to lyric songs, they probably would
not have very much objected to our proposed application of the word. Some one, either
asleep or awake, must have had a dreamy suspicion of their nature. And let our decree
be as follows:—No one in singing or dancing shall offend against public and consecrated
models, and the general fashion among the youth, any more than he would offend
against any other law. And he who observes this law shall be blameless; but he who is
disobedient, as I was saying, shall be punished by the guardians of the laws, and by the
priests and priestesses. Suppose that we imagine this to be our law.
Cleinias. Very good.
Athenian. Can any one who makes such laws escape ridicule? Let us see. I think that our
only safety will be in first framing certain models for composers. One of these models
shall be as follows:—If when a sacrifice is going on, and the victims are being burnt
according to law—if, I say, any one who may be a son or brother, standing by another at
the altar and over the victims, horribly blasphemes, will not his words inspire
despondency and evil omens and forebodings in the mind of his father and of his other
kinsmen?
Cleinias. Of course.
Athenian. And this is just what takes place in almost all our cities. A magistrate offers a
public sacrifice, and there come in not one but many choruses, who take up a position a
little way from the altar, and from time to time pour forth all sorts of horrible
blasphemies on the sacred rites, exciting the souls of the audience with words and
rhythms and melodies most sorrowful to hear; and he who at the moment when the city
is offering sacrifice makes the citizens weep most, carries away the palm of victory. Now,
ought we not to forbid such strains as these? And if ever our citizens must hear such
lamentations, then on some unblest and inauspicious day let there be choruses of
foreign and hired minstrels, like those hirelings who accompany the departed at funerals
with barbarous Carian chants. That is the sort of thing which will be appropriate if we
have such strains at all; and let the apparel of the singers be, not circlets and ornaments
of gold, but the reverse. Enough of all this. I will simply ask once more whether we shall
lay down as one of our principles of song—
Cleinias. What?
Athenian. That we should avoid every word of evil omen; let that kind of song which is
of good omen be heard everywhere and always in our state. I need hardly ask again, but
shall assume that you agree with me.
Cleinias. By all means; that law is approved by the suffrages of us all.
Athenian. But what shall be our next musical law or type? Ought not prayers to be
offered up to the Gods when we sacrifice?
Cleinias. Certainly.
Athenian. And our third law, if I am not mistaken, will be to the effect that our poets,
understanding prayers to be requests which we make to the Gods, will take especial
heed that they do not by mistake ask for evil instead of good. To make such a prayer
would surely be too ridiculous.
Cleinias. Very true.
Athenian. Were we not a little while ago quite convinced that no silver or golden Plutus
should dwell in our state?
Cleinias. To be sure.
Athenian. And what has it been the object of our argument to show? Did we not imply
that the poets are not always quite capable of knowing what is good or evil? And if one of
them utters a mistaken prayer in song or words, he will make our citizens pray for the
opposite of what is good in matters of the highest import; than which, as I was saying,
there can be few greater mistakes. Shall we then propose as one of our laws and models
relating to the Muses—
Cleinias. What?—will you explain the law more precisely?
Athenian. Shall we make a law that the poet shall compose nothing contrary to the ideas
of the lawful, or just, or beautiful, or good, which are allowed in the state? nor shall he
be permitted to communicate his compositions to any private individuals, until he shall
have shown them to the appointed judges and the guardians of the law, and they are
satisfied with them. As to the persons whom we appoint to be our legislators about
music and as to the director of education, these have been already indicated. Once more
then, as I have asked more than once, shall this be our third law, and type, and model—
What do you say?
Cleinias. Let it be so, by all means.
Athenian. Then it will be proper to have hymns and praises of the Gods, intermingled
with prayers; and after the Gods prayers and praises should be offered in like manner to
demigods and heroes, suitable to their several characters.
Cleinias. Certainly.
Athenian. In the next place there will be no objection to a law, that citizens who are
departed and have done good and energetic deeds, either with their souls or with their
bodies, and have been obedient to the laws, should receive eulogies; this will be very
fitting.
Cleinias. Quite true.
Athenian. But to honour with hymns and panegyrics those who are still alive is not safe;
a man should run his course, and make a fair ending, and then we will praise him; and
let praise be given equally to women as well as men who have been distinguished in
virtue. The order of songs and dances shall be as follows:—There are many ancient
musical compositions and dances which are excellent, and from these the newly–
founded city may freely select what is proper and suitable; and they shall choose judges
of not less than fifty years of age, who shall make the selection, and any of the old poems
which they deem sufficient they shall include; any that are deficient or altogether
unsuitable, they shall either utterly throw aside, or examine and amend, taking into
their counsel poets and musicians, and making use of their poetical genius; but
explaining to them the wishes of the legislator in order that they may regulate dancing,
music, and all choral strains, according to the mind of the judges; and not allowing them
to indulge, except in some few matters, their individual pleasures and fancies. Now the
irregular strain of music is always made ten thousand times better by attaining to law
and order, and rejecting the honeyed Muse—not however that we mean wholly to
exclude pleasure, which is the characteristic of all music. And if a man be brought up
from childhood to the age of discretion and maturity in the use of the orderly and severe
music, when he hears the opposite he detests it, and calls it illiberal; but if trained in the
sweet and vulgar music, he deems the severer kind cold and displeasing. So that, as I
was saying before, while he who hears them gains no more pleasure from the one than
from the other, the one has the advantage of making those who are trained in it better
men, whereas the other makes them worse.
Cleinias. Very true.
Athenian. Again, we must distinguish and determine on some general principle what
songs are suitable to women, and what to men, and must assign to them their proper
melodies and rhythms. It is shocking for a whole harmony to be inharmonical, or for a
rhythm to be unrhythmical, and this will happen when the melody is inappropriate to
them. And therefore the legislator must assign to these also their forms. Now both sexes
have melodies and rhythms which of necessity belong to them; and those of women are
clearly enough indicated by their natural difference. The grand, and that which tends to
courage, may be fairly called manly; but that which inclines to moderation and
temperance, may be declared both in law and in ordinary speech to be the more
womanly quality. This, then, will be the general order of them.
Let us now speak of the manner of teaching and imparting them, and the persons to
whom, and the time when, they are severally to be imparted. As the shipwright first lays
down the lines of the keel, and thus, as it were, draws the ship in outline, so do I seek to
distinguish the patterns of life, and lay down their keels according to the nature of
different men’s souls; seeking truly to consider by what means, and in what ways, we
may go through the voyage of life best. Now human affairs are hardly worth considering
in earnest, and yet we must be in earnest about them—a sad necessity constrains us.
And having got thus far, there will be a fitness in our completing the matter, if we can
only find some suitable method of doing so. But what do I mean? Some one may ask this
very question, and quite rightly, too.
Cleinias. Certainly.
Athenian. I say that about serious matters a man should be serious, and about a matter
which is not serious he should not be, serious; and that God is the natural and worthy
object of our most serious and blessed endeavours, for man, as I said before, is made to
be the plaything of God, and this, truly considered, is the best of him; wherefore also
every man and woman should walk seriously, and pass life in the noblest of pastimes,
and be of another mind from what they are at present.
Cleinias. In what respect?
Athenian. At present they think that their serious suits should be for the sake of their
sports, for they deem war a serious. pursuit, which must be managed well for the sake of
peace; but the truth is, that there neither is, nor has been, nor ever will be, either
amusement or instruction in any degree worth, speaking of in war, which is nevertheless
deemed by us to be the most serious of our pursuits. And therefore, as we say, every one
of us should live the life of peace as long and as well as he can. And what is the right way
of living? Are we to live in sports always? If so, in what kind of sports? We ought to live
sacrificing, and singing, and dancing, and then a man will be able to propitiate the Gods,
and to defend himself against his enemies and conquer them in battle. The type of song
or dance by which he will propitiate them has been described, and the paths along which
he is to proceed have been cut for him. He will go forward in the spirit of the poet:
Telemachus, some things thou wilt thyself find in thy heart, but other things God will
suggest; for I deem that thou wast not brought up without the will of the Gods. And this
ought to be the view of our alumni; they ought to think that what has been said is
enough for them, and that any other things their Genius and God will suggest to them—
he will tell them to whom, and when, and to what Gods severally they are to sacrifice
and perform dances, and how they may propitiate the deities, and live according to the
appointment of nature; being for the most part puppets, but having some little share of
reality.
Megillus. You have a low opinion of mankind, Stranger.
Athenian. Nay, Megillus, be not amazed, but forgive me:—I was comparing them with
the Gods; and under that feeling I spoke. Let us grant, if you wish, that the human race
is not to be despised, but is worthy of some consideration.
Next follow the buildings for gymnasia and schools open to all; these are to be in three
places in the midst of the city; and outside the city and in the surrounding country, also
in three places, there shall be schools for horse exercise, and large grounds arranged
with a view to archery and the throwing of missiles, at which young men may learn and
practise. Of these mention has already been made, and if the mention be not sufficiently
explicit, let us speak, further of them and embody them in laws. In these several schools
let there be dwellings for teachers, who shall be brought from foreign parts by pay, and
let them teach those who attend the schools the art of war and the art of music, and the
children shall come not only if their parents please, but if they do not please; there shall
be compulsory education, as the saying is, of all and sundry, as far this is possible; and
the pupils shall be regarded as belonging to the state rather than to their parents. My
law would apply to females as well as males; they shall both go through the same
exercises. I assert without fear of contradiction that gymnastic and horsemanship are as
suitable to women as to men. Of the truth of this I am persuaded from ancient tradition,
and at the present day there are said to be countless myriads of women in the
neighbourhood of the Black Sea, called Sauromatides, who not only ride on horseback
like men, but have enjoined upon them the use of bows and other weapons equally with
the men. And I further affirm, that if these things are possible, nothing can be more
absurd than the practice which prevails in our own country, of men and women not
following the same pursuits with all their strength and with one mind, for thus the state,
instead of being a whole, is reduced to a half, but has the same imposts to pay and the
same toils to undergo; and what can be a greater mistake for any legislator to make than
this?
Cleinias. Very true; yet much of what has been asserted by us, Stranger is contrary to the
custom of states; still, in saying that the discourse should be allowed to proceed, and
that when the discussion is completed, we should choose what seems best, you spoke
very properly, and I now feel compunction for what I have said. Tell me, then, what you
would next wish to say.
Athenian. I should wish to say, Cleinias, as I said before, that if the possibility of these
things were not sufficiently proven in fact, then there might be an objection to the
argument, but the fact being as I have said, he who rejects the law must find some other
ground of objection; and, failing this, our exhortation will still hold good, nor will any
one deny that women ought to share as far as possible in education and in other ways
with men. For consider;—if women do not share in their whole life with men, then they
must have some other order of life.
Cleinias. Certainly.
Athenian. And what arrangement of life to be found anywhere is preferable to this
community which we are now assigning to them? Shall we prefer that which is adopted
by the Thracians and many other races who use their women to till the ground and to be
shepherds of their herds and flocks, and to minister to them like slaves?—Or shall we do
as we and people in our part of the world do—getting together, as the phrase is, all our
goods and chattels into one dwelling, we entrust them to our women, who are the
stewards of them, and who also preside over the shuttles and the whole art of spinning?
Or shall we take a middle course, in Lacedaemon, Megillus—letting the girls share in
gymnastic and music, while the grown–up women, no longer employed in spinning
wool, are hard at work weaving the web of life, which will be no cheap or mean
employment, and in the duty of serving and taking care of the household and bringing
up children, in which they will observe a sort of mean, not participating in the toils of
war; and if there were any necessity that they should fight for their city and families,
unlike the Amazons, they would be unable to take part in archery or any other skilled
use of missiles, nor could they, after the example of the Goddess, carry shield or spear,
or stand up nobly for their country when it was being destroyed, and strike terror into
their enemies, if only because they were seen in regular order? Living as they do, they
would never dare at all to imitate the Sauromatides, who, when compared with ordinary
women, would appear to be like men. Let him who will, praise your legislators, but I
must say what I think. The legislator ought to be whole and perfect, and not half a man
only; he ought not to let the female sex live softly and waste money and have no order of
life, while he takes the utmost care of the male sex, and leaves half of life only blest with
happiness, when he might have made the whole state happy.
Megillus. What shall we do, Cleinias? Shall we allow a stranger to run down Sparta in
this fashion?
Cleinias. Yes; for as we have given him liberty of speech we must let him go on until we
have perfected the work of legislation.
Megillus. Very true.
Athenian. Then now I may proceed?
Cleinias. By all means.
Athenian. What will be the manner of life among men who may be supposed to have
their food and clothing provided for them in moderation, and who have entrusted the
practice of the arts to others, and whose husbandry, committed to slaves paying a part of
the produce, brings them a return sufficient for men living temperately; who, moreover,
have common tables in which the men are placed apart, and near them are the common
tables of their families, of their daughters and mothers, which day by day, the officers,
male and female, are to inspect—they shall see to the behaviour of the company, and so
dismiss them; after which the presiding magistrate and his attendants shall honour with
libations those Gods to whom that day and night are dedicated, and then go home? To
men whose lives are thus ordered, is there no work remaining to be done which is
necessary and fitting, but shall each one of them live fattening like a beast? Such a life is
neither just nor honourable, nor can he who lives it fail of meeting his due; and the due
reward of the idle fatted beast is that he should be torn in pieces by some other valiant
beast whose fatness is worn down by brave deeds and toil. These regulations, if we duly
consider them, will never be exactly carried into execution under present circumstances,
nor as long as women and children and houses and all other things are the private
property of individuals; but if we can attain the second–best form of polity, we shall be
very well off. And to men living under this second polity there remains a work to be
accomplished which is far from being small or insignificant, but is the greatest of all
works, and ordained by the appointment of righteous law. For the life which may be
truly said to be concerned with the virtue of body and soul is twice, or more than twice,
as full of toil and trouble as the pursuit after Pythian and Olympic victories, which
debars a man from every employment of life. For there ought to be no bye–work
interfering with the greater work of providing the necessary exercise and nourishment
for the body, and instruction and education for the soul. Night and day are not long
enough for the accomplishment of their perfection and consummation; and therefore to
this end all freemen ought to arrange the way in which they will spend their time during
the whole course of the day, from morning till evening and from evening till the morning
of the next sunrise. There may seem to be some impropriety in the legislator
determining minutely the numberless details of the management of the house, including
such particulars as the duty of wakefulness in those who are to be perpetual watchmen
of the whole city; for that any citizen should continue during the whole of any night in
sleep, instead of being seen by all his servants, always the first to awake and get up—
this, whether the regulation is to be called a law or only a practice, should be deemed
base and unworthy of a freeman; also that the mistress of the house should be awakened
by her handmaidens instead of herself first awakening them, is what the slaves, male
and female, and the serving–boys, and, if that were possible, everybody and everything
in the house should regard as base. If they rise early, they may all of them do much of
their public and of their household business, as magistrates in the city, and masters and
mistresses in their private houses, before the sun is up. Much sleep is not required by
nature, either for our souls or bodies, or for the actions which they perform. For no one
who is asleep is good for anything, any more than if he were dead; but he of us who has
the most regard for life and reason keeps awake as long he can, reserving only so much
time for sleep as is expedient for health; and much sleep is not required, if the habit of
moderation be once rightly formed. Magistrates in states who keep awake at night are
terrible to the bad, whether enemies or citizens, and are honoured and reverenced by
the just and temperate, and are useful to themselves and to the whole state.
A night which is passed in such a manner, in addition to all the above–mentioned
advantages, infuses a sort of courage into the minds of the citizens. When the day
breaks, the time has arrived for youth to go to their schoolmasters. Now neither sheep
nor any other animals can live without a shepherd, nor can children be left without
tutors, or slaves without masters. And of all animals the boy is the most unmanageable,
inasmuch as he has the fountain of reason in him not yet regulated; he is the most
insidious, sharp–witted, and insubordinate of animals. Wherefore he must be bound
with many bridles; in the first place, when he gets away from mothers and nurses, he
must be under the management of tutors on account of his childishness and foolishness;
then, again, being a freeman, he must be controlled by teachers, no matter what they
teach, and by studies; but he is also a slave, and in that regard any freeman who comes
in his way may punish him and his tutor and his instructor, if any of them does anything
wrong; and he who comes across him and does not inflict upon him the punishment
which he deserves, shall incur the greatest disgrace; and let the guardian of the law, who
is the director of education, see to him who coming in the way of the offences which we
have mentioned, does not chastise them when he ought, or chastises them in a way
which he ought not; let him keep a sharp look–out, and take especial care of the training
of our children, directing their natures, and always turning them to good according to
the law.
But how can our law sufficiently train the director of education. himself; for as yet all
has been imperfect, and nothing has been said either clear or satisfactory? Now, as far as
possible, the law ought to leave nothing to him, but to explain everything, that he may
be an interpreter and tutor to others. About dances and music and choral strains, I have
already spoken both to the character of the selection of them, and the manner in which
they are to be amended and consecrated. But we have not as yet spoken, O illustrious
guardian of education, of the manner in which your pupils are to use those strains which
are written in prose, although you have been informed what martial strains they are to
learn and practise; what relates in the first place to the learning of letters, and secondly,
to the lyre, and also to calculation, which, as we were saying, is needful for them all to
learn, and any other things which are required with a view to war and the management
of house and city, and, looking to the same object, what is useful in the revolutions of the
heavenly bodies—the stars and sun and moon, and the various regulations about these
matters which are necessary for the whole state—I am speaking of the arrangements of;
days in periods of months, and of months in years, which are to be observed, in order
that seasons and sacrifices and festivals may have their regular and natural order, and
keep the city alive and awake, the Gods receiving the honours due to them, and men
having a better understanding about them: all these things, O my friend, have not yet
been sufficiently declared to you by the legislator. Attend, then, to what I am now going
to say:—We were telling you, in the first place, that you were not sufficiently informed
about letters, and the objection was to this effect—that you were never told whether he
who was meant to be a respectable citizen should apply himself in detail to that sort of
learning, or not apply himself at all; and the same remark holds good of the study of the
lyre. But now we say that he ought to attend to them. A fair time for a boy of ten years
old to spend in letters is three years; the age of thirteen is the proper time for him to
begin to handle the lyre, and he may continue at this for another three years, neither
more nor less, and whether his father or himself like or dislike the study, he is not to be
allowed to spend more or less time in learning music than the law allows. And let him
who disobeys the law be deprived of those youthful honours of which we shall hereafter
speak. Hear, however, first of all, what the young ought to learn in the early years of life,
and what their instructors ought to teach them. They ought to be occupied with their
letters until they are to read and write; but the acquisition of perfect beauty or quickness
in writinig, if nature has not stimulated them to acquire these accomplishments in the
given number of years, they should let alone. And as to the learning of compositions
committed to writing which are not set to the lyre, whether metrical or without
rhythmical divisions, compositions in prose, as they are termed, having no rhythm or
harmony—seeing how dangerous are the writings handed down to us by many writers of
this class—what will you do with them, O most excellent guardians of the law? or how
can the lawgiver rightly direct you about them? I believe that he will be in great
difficulty.
Cleinias. What troubles you, Stranger? and why are you so perplexed in your mind?
Athenian. You naturally ask, Cleinias, and to you and Megillus, who are my partners in
the work of legislation, I must state the more difficult as well as the easier parts of the
task.
Cleinias. To what do you refer in this instance?
Athenian. I will tell you. There is a difficulty in opposing many myriads of mouths.
Cleinias. Well, and have we not already opposed the popular voice in many important
enactments?
Athenian. That is quite true; and you mean to imply, that the road which we are taking
may be disagreeable to some but is agreeable to as many others, or if not to as many, at
any rate to persons not inferior to the others, and in company with them you bid me, at
whatever risk, to proceed along the path of legislation which has opened out of our
present discourse, and to be of good cheer, and not to faint.
Cleinias. Certainly.
Athenian. And I do not faint; I say, indeed, that we have a great many poets writing in
hexameter, trimeter, and all sorts of measures—some who are serious, others who aim
only at raising a laugh—and all mankind declare that the youth who are rightly educated
should be brought up in them and saturated with them; some insist that they should be
constantly hearing them read aloud, and always learning them, so as to get by heart
entire poets; while others select choice passages and long speeches, and make
compendiums of them, saying that these ought to be committed to memory, if a man is
to be made good and wise by experience and learning of many things. And you want me
now to tell them plainly in what they are right and in what they are wrong.
Cleinias. Yes, I do.
Athenian. But how can I in one word rightly comprehend all of them? I am of opinion,
and, if I am not mistaken, there is a general agreement, that every one of these poets has
said many things well and many things the reverse of well; and if this be true, then I do
affirm that much learning is dangerous to youth.
Cleinias. How would you advise the guardian of the law to act?
Athenian. In what respect?
Cleinias. I mean to what pattern should he look as his guide in permitting the young to
learn some things and forbidding them to learn others. Do not shrink from answering.
Athenian. My good Cleinias, I rather think that I am fortunate.
Cleinias. How so?
Athenian. I think that I am not wholly in want of a pattern, for when I consider the
words which we have spoken from early dawn until now, and which, as I believe, have
been inspired by Heaven, they appear to me to be quite like a poem. When I reflected
upon all these words of ours. I naturally felt pleasure, for of all the discourses which I
have ever learnt or heard, either in poetry or prose, this seemed to me to be the justest,
and most suitable for young men to hear; I cannot imagine any better pattern than this
which the guardian of the law who is also the director of education can have. He cannot
do better than advise the teachers to teach the young these words and any which are of a
like nature, if he should happen to find them, either in poetry or prose, or if he come
across unwritten discourses akin to ours, he should certainly preserve them, and commit
them to writing. And, first of all, he shall constrain the teachers themselves to learn and
approve them, and any of them who will not, shall not be employed by him, but those
whom he finds agreeing in his judgment, he shall make use of and shall commit to them
the instruction and education of youth. And here and on this wise let my fanciful tale
about letters and teachers of letters come to an end.
Cleinias. I do not think, Stranger, that we have wandered out of the proposed limits of
the argument; but whether we are right or not in our whole conception, I cannot be very
certain.
Athenian. The truth, Cleinias, may be expected to become clearer when, as we have
often said, we arrive at the end of the whole discussion about laws.
Cleinias. Yes.
Athenian. And now that we have done with the teacher of letters, the teacher of the lyre
has to receive orders from us.
Cleinias. Certainly.
Athenian. I think that we have only to recollect our previous discussions, and we shall be
able to give suitable regulations touching all this part of instruction and education to the
teachers of the lyre.
Cleinias. To what do you refer?
Athenian. We were saying, if I remember rightly, that the sixty–year–old choristers of
Dionysus were to be specially quick in their perceptions of rhythm and musical
composition, that they might be able to distinguish good and bad imitation, that is to
say, the imitation of the good or bad soul when under the influence of passion, rejecting
the one and displaying the other in hymns and songs, charming the souls of youth, and
inviting them to follow and attain virtue by the way of imitation.
Cleinias. Very true.
Athenian. And with this view, the teacher and the learner ought to use the sounds of the
lyre, because its notes are pure, the player who teaches and his pupil rendering note for
note in unison; but complexity, and variation of notes, when the strings give one sound
and the poet or composer of the melody gives another—also when they make concords
and harmonies in which lesser and greater intervals, slow and quick, or high and low
notes, are combined—or, again, when they make complex variations of rhythms, which
they adapt to the notes of the lyre—all that sort of thing is not suited to those who have
to acquire a speedy and useful knowledge of music in three years; for opposite principles
are confusing, and create a difficulty in learning, and our young men should learn
quickly, and their mere necessary acquirements are not few or trifling, as will be shown
in due course. Let the director of education attend to the principles concerning music
which we are laying down. As to the songs and words themselves which the masters of
choruses are to teach and the character of them, they have been already described by us,
and are the same which, when consecrated and adapted to the different festivals, we said
were to benefit cities by affording them an innocent amusement.
Cleinias. That, again, is true.
Athenian. Then let him who has been elected a director of music receive these rules
from us as containing the very truth; and may he prosper in his office! Let us now
proceed to lay down other rules in addition to the preceding about dancing and
gymnastic exercise in general. Having said what remained to be said about the teaching
of music, let us speak in like manner about gymnastic. For boys and girls ought to learn
to dance and practise gymnastic exercises—ought they not?
Cleinias. Yes.
Athenian. Then the boys ought to have dancing masters, and the girls dancing
mistresses to exercise them.
Cleinias. Very good.
Athenian. Then once more let us summon him who has the chief concern in the
business, the superintendent of youth [i.e., the director of education]; he will have
plenty to do, if he is to have the charge of music and gymnastic.
Cleinias. But how will old man be able to attend to such great charges?
Athenian. O my friend, there will be no difficulty, for the law has already given and will
give him permission to select as his assistants in this charge any citizens, male or
female, whom he desires; and he will know whom he ought to choose, and will be
anxious not to make a mistake, from a due sense of responsibility, and from a
consciousness of the importance of his office, and also because he will consider that if
young men have been and are well brought up, then all things go swimmingly, but if not,
it is not meet to say, nor do we say, what will follow, lest the regarders of omens should
take alarm about our infant state. Many things have been said by us about dancing and
about gymnastic movements in general; for we include under gymnastics all military
exercises, such as archery, and all hurling of weapons, and the use of the light shield,
and all fighting with heavy arms, and military evolutions, and movements of armies, and
encampings, and all that relates to horsemanship. Of all these things there ought to be
public teachers, receiving pay from the state, and their pupils should be the men and
boys in the state, and also the girls and women, who are to know all these things. While
they are yet girls they should have practised dancing in arms and the whole art of
fighting—when grown—up women, they should apply themselves to evolutions and
tactics, and the mode of grounding and taking up arms; if for no other reason, yet in
case the whole military force should have to leave the city and carry on operations of war
outside, that those who will have to guard the young and the rest of the city may be
equal to the task; and, on the other hand, when enemies, whether barbarian or Hellenic,
come from without with mighty force and make a violent assault upon them, and thus
compel them to fight for the possession of the city, which is far from being an
impossibility, great would be the disgrace to the state, if the women had been so
miserably trained that they could not fight for their young, as birds will, against any
creature however strong, and die or undergo any danger, but must instantly rush to the
temples and crowd at the altars and shrines, and bring upon human nature the
reproach, that of all animals man is the most cowardly!
Cleinias. Such a want of education, Stranger, is certainly an unseemly thing to happen in
a state, as well as a great misfortune.
Athenian. Suppose that we carry our law to the extent of saying that women ought not to
neglect military matters, but that all citizens, male and female alike, shall attend to
them?
Cleinias. I quite agree.
Athenian. Of wrestling we have spoken in part, but of what I should call the most
important part we have not spoken, and cannot easily speak without showing at the
same time by gesture as well as in word what we mean; when word and action combine,
and not till then, we shall explain clearly what has been said, pointing out that of all
movements wrestling is most akin to the military art, and is to be pursued for the sake of
this, and not this for the sake of wrestling.
Cleinias. Excellent.
Athenian. Enough of wrestling; we will now proceed to speak of other movements of the
body. Such motion may be in general called dancing, and is of two kinds: one of nobler
figures, imitating the honourable, the other of the more ignoble figures, imitating the
mean; and of both these there are two further subdivisions. Of the serious, one kind is of
those engaged in war and vehement action, and is the exercise of a noble person and a
manly heart; the other exhibits a temperate soul in the enjoyment of prosperity and
modest pleasures, and may be truly called and is the dance of peace. The warrior dance
is different from the peaceful one, and may be rightly termed Pyrrhic; this imitates the
modes of avoiding blows and missiles by dropping or giving way, or springing aside, or
rising up or falling down; also the opposite postures which are those of action, as, for
example, the imitation of archery and the hurling of javelins, and of all sorts of blows.
And when the imitation is of brave bodies and souls, and the action is direct and
muscular, giving for the most part a straight movement to the limbs of the body—that, I
say, is the true sort; but the opposite is not right. In the dance of peace what we have to
consider is whether a man bears himself naturally and gracefully, and after the manner
of men who duly conform to the law. But before proceeding I must distinguish the
dancing about which there is any doubt, from that about which there is no doubt. Which
is the doubtful kind, and how are the two to be distinguished? There are dances of the
Bacchic sort, both those in which, as they say, they imitate drunken men, and which are
named after the Nymphs, and Pan, and Silenuses, and Satyrs; and also those in which
purifications are made or mysteries celebrated—all this sort of dancing cannot be rightly
defined as having either a peaceful or a warlike character, or indeed as having any
meaning whatever and may, I think, be most truly described as distinct from the warlike
dance, and distinct from the peaceful, and not suited for a city at all. There let it lie; and
so leaving it to lie, we will proceed to the dances of war and peace, for with these we are
undoubtedly concerned. Now the unwarlike muse, which honours in dance the Gods
and the sons of the Gods, is entirely associated with the consciousness of prosperity; this
class may be subdivided into two lesser classes, of which one is expressive of an escape
from some labour or danger into good, and has greater pleasures, the other expressive of
preservation and increase of former good, in which the pleasure is less exciting;—in all
these cases, every man when the pleasure is greater, moves his body more, and less
when the pleasure is less; and, again, if he be more orderly and has learned courage
from discipline he waves less, but if he be a coward, and has no training or self–control,
he makes greater and more violent movements, and in general when he is speaking or
singing he is not altogether able to keep his body still; and so out of the imitation of
words in gestures the whole art of dancing has arisen. And in these various kinds of
imitation one man moves in an orderly, another in a disorderly manner; and as the
ancients may be observed to have given many names which are according to nature and
deserving of praise, so there is an excellent one which they have given to the dances of
men who in their times of prosperity are moderate in their pleasures—the giver of
names, whoever he was, assigned to them a very true, and poetical, and rational name,
when he called them Emmeleiai, or dances of order, thus establishing two kinds of
dances of the nobler sort, the dance of war which he called the Pyrrhic, and the dance of
peace which he called Emmeleia, or the dance of order; giving to each their appropriate
and becoming name. These things the legislator should indicate in general outline, and
the guardian of the law should enquire into them and search them out, combining
dancing with music, and assigning to the several sacrificial feasts that which is suitable
to them; and when he has consecrated all of them in due order, he shall for the future
change nothing, whether of dance or song. Thenceforward the city and the citizens shall
continue to have the same pleasures, themselves being as far as possible alike, and shall
live well and happily.
I have described the dances which are appropriate to noble bodies and generous souls.
But it is necessary also to consider and know uncomely persons and thoughts, and those
which are intended to produce laughter in comedy, and have a comic character in
respect of style, song, and dance, and of the imitations which these afford. For serious
things cannot be understood without laughable things, nor opposites at all without
opposites, if a man is really to have intelligence of either; but he can not carry out both
in action, if he is to have any degree of virtue. And for this very reason he should learn
them both, in order that he may not in ignorance do or say anything which is ridiculous
and out of place—he should command slaves and hired strangers to imitate such things,
but he should never take any serious interest in them himself, nor should any freeman
or freewoman be discovered taking pains to learn them; and there should always be
some element of novelty in the imitation. Let these then be laid down, both in law and in
our discourse, as the regulations of laughable amusements which are generally called
comedy. And, if any of the serious poets, as they are termed, who write tragedy, come to
us and say—”O strangers, may we go to your city and country or may we not, and shall
we bring with us our poetry—what is your will about these matters?”—how shall we
answer the divine men? I think that our answer should be as follows:—Best of strangers,
we will say to them, we also according to our ability are tragic poets, and our tragedy is
the best and noblest; for our whole state is an imitation of the best and noblest life,
which we affirm to be indeed the very truth of tragedy. You are poets and we are poets,
both makers of the same strains, rivals and antagonists in the noblest of dramas, which
true law can alone perfect, as our hope is. Do not then suppose that we shall all in a
moment allow you to erect your stage in the agora, or introduce the fair voices of your
actors, speaking above our own, and permit you to harangue our women and children,
and the common people, about our institutions, in language other than our own, and
very often the opposite of our own. For a state would be mad which gave you this
licence, until the magistrates had determined whether your poetry might be recited, and
was fit for publication or not. Wherefore, O ye sons and scions of the softer Muses, first
of all show your songs to the magistrates, and let them compare them with our own, and
if they are the same or better we will give you a chorus; but if not, then, my friends, we
cannot. Let these, then, be the customs ordained by law about all dances and the
teaching of them, and let matters relating to slaves be separated from those relating to
masters, if you do not object.
Cleinias. We can have no hesitation in assenting when you put the matter thus.
Athenian. There still remain three studies suitable for freemen. Arithmetic is one of
them; the measurement of length, surface, and depth is the second; and the third has to
do with the revolutions of the stars in relation to one another. Not every one has need to
toil through all these things in a strictly scientific manner, but only a few, and who they
are to be we will hereafter indicate at the end, which will be the proper place; not to
know what is necessary for mankind in general, and what is the truth, is disgraceful to
every one: and yet to enter into these matters minutely is neither easy, nor at all possible
for every one; but there is something in them which is necessary and cannot be set aside,
and probably he who made the proverb about God originally had this in view when he
said, that “not even God himself can fight against necessity”;—he meant, if I am not
mistaken, divine necessity; for as to the human necessities of which the many speak,
when they talk in this manner, nothing can be more ridiculous than such an application
of the words.
Cleinias. And what necessities of knowledge are there, Stranger, which are divine and
not human?
Athenian. I conceive them to be those of which he who has no use nor any knowledge at
all cannot be a God, or demi–god, or hero to mankind, or able to take any serious
thought or charge of them. And very unlike a divine man would he be, who is unable to
count one, two, three, or to distinguish odd and even numbers, or is unable to count at
all, or reckon night and day, and who is totally unacquainted with the revolution of the
sun and moon, and the other stars. There would be great folly in supposing that all these
are not necessary parts of knowledge to him who intends to know anything about the
highest kinds of knowledge; but which these are, and how many there are of them, and
when they are to be learned, and what is to be learned together and what apart, and the
whole correlation of them, must be rightly apprehended first; and these leading the way
we may proceed to the other parts of knowledge. For so necessity grounded in nature
constrains us, against which we say that no God contends, or ever will contend.
Cleinias. I think, Stranger, that what you have now said is very true and agreeable to
nature.
Athenian. Yes, Cleinias, that is so. But it is difficult for the legislator to begin with these
studies; at a more convenient time we will make regulations for them.
Cleinias. You seem, Stranger, to be afraid of our habitual ignorance of the subject: there
is no reason why that should prevent you from speaking out.
Athenian. I certainly am afraid of the difficulties to which you allude, but I am still more
afraid of those who apply themselves to this sort of knowledge, and apply themselves
badly. For entire ignorance is not so terrible or extreme an evil, and is far from being the
greatest of all; too much cleverness and too much learning, accompanied with an ill
bringing up, are far more fatal.
Cleinias. True.
Athenian. All freemen, I conceive, should learn as much of these branches of knowledge
as every child in Egypt is taught when he learns the alphabet. In that country
arithmetical games have been invented for the use of mere children, which they learn as
a pleasure and amusement. They have to distribute apples and garlands, using the same
number sometimes for a larger and sometimes for a lesser number of persons; and they
arrange pugilists, and wrestlers as they pair together by lot or remain over, and show
how their turns come in natural order. Another mode of amusing them is to distribute
vessels, sometimes of gold, brass, silver, and the like, intermixed with one another,
sometimes of one metal only; as I was saying they adapt to their amusement the
numbers in common use, and in this way make more intelligible to their pupils the
arrangements and movements of armies and expeditions, in the management of a
household they make people more useful to themselves, and more wide awake; and
again in measurements of things which have length, and breadth, and depth, they free
us from that natural ignorance of all these things which is so ludicrous and disgraceful.
Cleinias. What kind of ignorance do you mean?
Athenian. O my dear Cleinias, I, like yourself, have late in life heard with amazement of
our ignorance in these matters; to me we appear to be more like pigs than men, and I
am quite ashamed, not only of myself, but of all Hellenes.
Cleinias. About what? Say, Stranger, what you mean.
Athenian. I will; or rather I will show you my meaning by a question, and do you please
to answer me: You know, I suppose, what length is?
Cleinias. Certainly.
Athenian. And what breadth is?
Cleinias. To be sure.
Athenian. And you know that these are two distinct things, and that there is a third
thing called depth?
Cleinias. Of course.
Athenian. And do not all these seem to you to be commensurable with themselves?
Cleinias. Yes.
Athenian. That is to say, length is naturally commensurable with length, and breadth
with breadth, and depth in like manner with depth?
Cleinias. Undoubtedly.
Athenian. But if some things are commensurable and others wholly incommensurable,
and you think that all things are commensurable, what is your position in regard to
them?
Cleinias. Clearly, far from good.
Athenian. Concerning length and breadth when compared with depth, or breadth when
and length when compared with one another, are not all the Hellenes agreed that these
are commensurable with one in some way?
Cleinias. Quite true.
Athenian. But if they are absolutely incommensurable, and yet all of us regard them as
commensurable, have we not reason to be ashamed of our compatriots; and might we
not say to them:—O ye best of Hellenes, is not this one of the things of which we were
saying that not to know them is disgraceful, and of which to have a bare knowledge only
is no great distinction?
Cleinias. Certainly.
Athenian. And there are other things akin to these, in which there spring up other errors
of the same family.
Cleinias. What are they?
Athenian. The natures of commensurable and incommensurable quantities in their
relation to one another. A man who is good for a thing ought to be able, when he thinks,
to distinguish them; and different persons should compete with one another in asking
questions, which will be a fair, better and more graceful way of passing their time than
the old man’s game of draughts.
Cleinias. I dare say; and these pastimes are not so very unlike a game of draughts.
Athenian. And these, as I maintain, Cleinias, are the studies which our youth ought to
learn, for they are innocent and not difficult; the learning of them will be an amusement,
and they will benefit the state. If anyone is of another mind, let him say what he has to
say.
Cleinias. Certainly.
Athenian. Then if these studies are such as we maintain we will include them; if not,
they shall be excluded.
Cleinias. Assuredly: but may we not now, Stranger, prescribe these studies as necessary,
and so fill up the lacunae of our laws?
Athenian. They shall be regarded as pledges which may be hereafter redeemed and
removed from our state, if they do not please either us who give them, or you who accept
them.
Cleinias. A fair condition.
Athenian. Next let us see whether we are or are not willing that the study of astronomy
shall be proposed for our youth.
Cleinias. Proceed.
Athenian. Here occurs a strange phenomenon, which certainly cannot in any point of
view be tolerated.
Cleinias. To what are you referring?
Athenian. Men say that we ought not to enquire into the supreme God and the nature of
the universe, nor busy ourselves in searching out the causes of things, and that such
enquiries are impious; whereas the very opposite is the truth.
Cleinias. What do you mean?
Athenian. Perhaps what I am saying may seem paradoxical, and at variance with the
usual language of age. But when any one has any good and true notion which is for the
advantage of the state and in every way acceptable to God, he cannot abstain from
expressing it.
Cleinias. Your words are reasonable enough; but shall we find any good or true notion
about the stars?
Athenian. My good friends, at this hour all of us Hellenes tell lies, if I may use such an
expression, about those great Gods, the Sun and the Moon.
Cleinias. Lies of what nature?
Athenian. We say that they and divers other stars do not keep the same path, and we call
them planets or wanderers.
Cleinias. Very true, Stranger; and in the course of my life I have often myself seen the
morning star and the evening star and divers others not moving in their accustomed
course, but wandering out of their path in all manner of ways, and I have seen the sun
and moon doing what we all know that they do.
Athenian. Just so, Megillus and Cleinias; and I maintain that our citizens and our youth
ought to learn about the nature of the Gods in heaven, so far as to be able to offer
sacrifices and pray to them in pious language, and not to blaspheme about them.
Cleinias. There you are right if such a knowledge be only attainable; and if we are wrong
in our mode of speaking now, and can be better instructed and learn to use better
language, then I quite agree with you that such a degree of knowledge as will enable us
to speak rightly should be acquired by us. And now do you try to explain to us your
whole meaning, and we, on our part, will endeavour to understand you.
Athenian. There is some difficulty in understanding my meaning, but not a very great
one, nor will any great length of time be required. And of this I am myself a proof; for I
did not know these things long ago, nor in the days of my youth, and yet I can explain
them to you in a brief space of time; whereas if they had been difficult I could certainly
never have explained them all, old as I am, to old men like yourselves.
Cleinias. True; but what is this study which you describe as wonderful and fitting for
youth to learn, but of which we are ignorant? Try and explain the nature of it to us as
clearly as you can.
Athenian. I will. For, O my good friends, that other doctrine about the wandering of the
sun and the moon and the other stars is not the truth, but the very reverse of the truth.
Each of them moves in the same path—not in many paths, but in one only, which is
circular, and the varieties are only apparent. Nor are we right in supposing that the
swiftest of them is the slowest, nor conversely, that the slowest is the quickest. And if
what I say is true, only just imagine that we had a similar notion about horses running at
Olympia, or about men who ran in the long course, and that we addressed the swiftest as
the slowest and the slowest as the swiftest, and sang the praises of the vanquished as
though he were the victor,—in that case our praises would not be true, nor very
agreeable to the runners, though they be but men; and now, to commit the same error
about the Gods which would have been ludicrous and erroneous in the case of men—is
not that ludicrous and erroneous?
Cleinias. Worse than ludicrous, I should say.
Athenian. At all events, the Gods cannot like us to be spreading a false report of them.
Cleinias. Most true, if such is the fact.
Athenian. And if we can show that such is really the fact, then all these matters ought to
be learned so far as is necessary for the avoidance of impiety; but if we cannot, they may
be let alone, and let this be our decision.
Cleinias. Very good.
Athenian. Enough of laws relating to education and learning. But hunting and similar
pursuits in like manner claim our attention. For the legislator appears to have a duty
imposed upon him which goes beyond mere legislation. There is something over and
above law which lies in a region between admonition and law, and has several times
occurred to us in the course of discussion; for example, in the education of very young
children there were things, as we maintain, which are not to be defined, and to regard
them as matters of positive law is a great absurdity. Now, our laws and the whole
constitution of our state having been thus delineated, the praise of the virtuous citizen is
not complete when he is described as the person who serves the laws best and obeys
them most, but the higher form of praise is that which describes him as the good citizen
who passes through life undefiled and is obedient to the words of the legislator, both
when he is giving laws and when he assigns praise and blame. This is the truest word
that can be spoken in praise of a citizen; and the true legislator ought not only to write
his laws, but also to interweave with them all such things as seem to him honourable
and dishonourable. And the perfect citizen ought to seek to strengthen these no less
than the principles of law which are sanctioned by punishments. I will adduce an
example which will clear up my meaning, and will be a sort of witness to my words.
Hunting is of wide extent, and has a name under which many things are included, for
there is a hunting of creatures in the water, and of creatures in the air, and there is a
great deal of hunting of land animals of all kinds, and not of wild beasts only. The
hunting after man is also worthy of consideration; there is the hunting after him in war,
and there is often a hunting after him in the way of friendship, which is praised and also
blamed; and there is thieving, and the hunting which is practised by robbers, and that of
armies against armies. Now the legislator, in laying down laws about hunting, can
neither abstain from noting these things, nor can he make threatening ordinances which
will assign rules and penalties about all of them. What is he to do? He will have to praise
and blame hunting with a view to the exercise and pursuits of youth. And, on the other
hand, the young man must listen obediently; neither pleasure nor pain should hinder
him, and he should regard as his standard of action the praises and injunctions of the
legislator rather than the punishments which he imposes by law. This being premised,
there will follow next in order moderate praise and censure of hunting; the praise being
assigned to that kind which will make the souls of young men better, and the censure to
that which has the opposite effect.
And now let us address young men in the form of a prayer for their welfare: O friends,
we will say to them, may no desire or love of hunting in the sea, or of angling or of
catching the creatures in the waters, ever take possession of you, either when you are
awake or when you are asleep, by hook or with weels, which latter is a very lazy
contrivance; and let not any desire of catching men and of piracy by sea enter into your
souls and make you cruel and lawless hunters. And as to the desire of thieving in town
or country, may it never enter into your most passing thoughts; nor let the insidious
fancy of catching birds, which is hardly worthy of freemen, come into the head of any
youth. There remains therefore for our athletes only the hunting and catching of land
animals, of which the one sort is called hunting by night, in which the hunters sleep in
turn and are lazy; this is not to be commended any more than that which has intervals of
rest, in which the will strength of beasts is subdued by nets and snares, and not by the
victory of a laborious spirit. Thus, only the best kind of hunting is allowed at all—that of
quadrupeds, which is carried on with horses and dogs and men’s own persons, and they
get the victory over the animals by running them down and striking them and hurling at
them, those who have a care of godlike manhood taking them with their own hands. The
praise and blame which is assigned to all these things has now been declared; and let the
law be as follows:—Let no one hinder these who verily are sacred hunters from following
the chase wherever and whither soever they will; but the hunter by night, who trusts to
his nets and gins, shall not be allowed to hunt anywhere. The fowler in the mountains
and waste places shall be permitted, but on cultivated ground and on consecrated wilds
he shall not be permitted; and any one who meets him may stop him. As to the hunter in
waters, he may hunt anywhere except in harbours or sacred streams or marshes or
pools, provided only that he do not pollute the water with poisonous juices. And now we
may say that all our enactments about education are complete.
Cleinias. Very good.
BOOK VIII
Athenian Stranger. Next, with the help of the Delphian oracle, we have to institute
festivals and make laws about them, and to determine what sacrifices will be for the
good of the city, and to what Gods they shall be offered; but when they shall be offered,
and how often, may be partly regulated by us.
Cleinias. The number—yes.
Athenian. Then we will first determine the number; and let the whole number be 365—
one for every day—so that one magistrate at least will sacrifice daily to some God or
demi–god on behalf of the city, and the citizens, and their possessions. And the
interpreters, and priests, and priestesses, and prophets shall meet, and, in company
with the guardians of the law, ordain those things which the legislator of necessity
omits; and I may remark that they are the very persons who ought to take note of what
is omitted. The law will say that there are twelve feasts dedicated to the twelve Gods,
after whom the several tribes are named; and that to each of them they shall sacrifice
every month, and appoint choruses, and musical and gymnastic contests, assigning
them so as to suit the Gods and seasons of the year. And they shall have festivals for
women, distinguishing those which ought to be separated from the men’s festivals, and
those which ought not. Further, they shall not confuse the infernal deities and their rites
with the Gods who are termed heavenly and their rites, but shall separate them, giving
to Pluto his own in the twelfth month, which is sacred to him, according to the law. To
such a deity warlike men should entertain no aversion, but they should honour him as
being always the best friend of man. For the connection of soul and body is no way
better than the dissolution of them, as I am ready to maintain quite seriously. Moreover,
those who would regulate these matters rightly should consider, that our city among
existing cities has fellow, either in respect of leisure or comin and of the necessaries of
life, and that like an individual she ought to live happily. And those who would live
happily should in the first place do no wrong to one another, and ought not themselves
to be wronged by others; to attain the first is not difficult, but there is great difficulty, in
acquiring the power of not being wronged. No man can be perfectly secure against
wrong, unless he has become perfectly good; and cities are like individuals in this, for a
city if good has a life of peace, but if evil, a life of war within and without. Wherefore the
citizens ought to practise war—not in time of war, but rather while they are at peace.
And every city which has any sense, should take the field at least for one day in every
month; and for more if the magistrates think fit, having no regard to winter cold or
summer heat; and they should go out en masse, including their wives and their children,
when the magistrates determine to lead forth the whole people, or in separate portions
when summoned by them; and they should always provide that there should be games
and sacrificial feasts, and they should have tournaments, imitating in as lively a manner
as they can real battles. And they should distribute prizes of victory and valour to the
competitors, passing censures and encomiums on one another according to the
characters which they bear in the contests and their whole life, honouring him who
seems to be the best, and blaming him who is the opposite. And let poets celebrate the
victors—not however every poet, but only one who in the first place is not less than fifty
years of age; nor should he be one who, although he may have musical and poetical gifts,
has never in his life done any noble or illustrious action; but those who are themselves
good and also honourable in the state, creators of noble actions—let their poems be
sung, even though they be not very musical. And let the judgment of them rest with the
instructor of youth and the other guardians of the laws, who shall give them this
privilege, and they alone shall be free to sing; but the rest of the world shall not have this
liberty. Nor shall any one dare to sing a song which has not been approved by the
judgment of the guardians of the laws, not even if his strain be sweeter than the songs of
Thamyras and Orpheus; but only and Orpheus; but only such poems as have been
judged sacred and dedicated to the Gods, and such as are the works of good men, which
praise of blame has been awarded and which have been deemed to fulfil their design
fairly.
The regulations about and about liberty of speech in poitry, ought to apply equally to
men and women. The legislator may be supposed to argue the question in his own
mind:—Who are my citizens for whom I have set in order the city? Are they not
competitors in the greatest of all contests, and have they not innumerable rivals? To be
sure, will be the natural, reply. Well, but if we were training boxers, or pancratiasts, or
any other sort of athletes, would they never meet until the hour of contest arrived; and
should we do nothing to prepare ourselves previously by daily practice? Surely, if we
were boxers we should have been learning to fight for many days before, and exercising
ourselves in imitating all those blows and wards which we were intending to use in the
hour of conflict; and in order that we might come as near to reality as possible, instead
of cestuses we should put on boxing gloves, that the blows and the wards might be
practised by us to the utmost of our power. And if there were a lack of competitors, the
ridicule of fools would ryot deter us from hanging up a lifeless image and practising at
that. Or if we had no adversary at all, animate or inanimate, should we not venture in
the dearth of antagonists to spar by ourselves? In what other manner could we ever
study the art of self–defence?
Cleinias. The way which you mention Stranger, would be the only way.
Athenian. And shall the warriors of our city, who are destined when occasion calli to
enter the greatest of all contests, and to fight for their lives, and their children, and their
property, and the whole city, be worse prepared than boxers? And will the legislator,
because he is afraid that their practising with one another may appear to some
ridiculous, abstain from commanding them to go out and fight; will he not ordain that
soldiers shall perform lesser exercises without arms every day, making dancing and all
gymnastic tend to this end; and also will he not require that they shall practise some
gymnastic exercises, greater as well as lesser, as often as every month; and that they
shall have contests one with another in every part of the country, seizing upon posts and
lying in ambush, and imitating in every respect the reality of war; fighting with boxing–
gloves and hurling javelins, and using weapons somewhat dangerous, and as nearly as
possible like the true ones, in order that the sport may not be altogether without fear,
but may have terrors and to a certain degree show the man who has and who has not
courage; and that the honour and dishonour which are assigned to them respectively,
may prepare the whole city for the true conflict of life? If any one dies in these mimic
contests, the homicide is involuntary, and we will make the slayer, when he has been
purified according to law, to be pure of blood, considering that if a few men should die,
others as good as they will be born; but that if fear is dead then the citizens will never
find a test of superior and inferior natures, which is a far greater evil to the state than
the loss of a few.
Cleinias. We are quite agreed, Stranger, that we should legislate about such things, and
that the whole state should practise them supposed
Athenian. And what is the reason that dances and contests of this sort hardly ever exist
in states, at least not to any extent worth speaking of? Is this due to the ignorance of
mankind and their legislators?
Cleinias. Perhaps.
Athenian. Certainly not, sweet Cleinias; there are two causes, which are quite enough to
account for the deficiency.
Cleinias. What are they?
Athenian. One cause is the love of wealth, which wholly absorbs men, and never for a
moment allows them to think of anything but their own private possessions; on this the
soul of every citizen hangs suspended, and can attend to nothing but his daily gain;
mankind are ready to learn any branch of knowledge, and to follow any pursuit which
tends to this end, and they laugh at every other:—that is one reason why a city will not
be in earnest about such contests or any other good and honourable pursuit. But from
an insatiable love of gold and silver, every man will stoop to any art or contrivance,
seemly or unseemly, in the hope of becoming rich; and will make no objection to
performing any action, holy, or unholy and utterly base, if only like a beast he have the
power of eating and drinking all kinds of things, and procuring for himself in every sort
of way the gratification of his lusts.
Cleinias. True.
Athenian. Let this, then, be deemed one of the causes which prevent states from
pursuing in an efficient manner the art of war, or any other noble aim, but makes the
orderly and temperate part of mankind into merchants, and captains of ships, and
servants, and converts the valiant sort into thieves and burglars and robbers of temples,
and violent, tyrannical persons; many of whom are not without ability, but they are
unfortunate.
Cleinias. What do you mean?
Athenian. Must not they be truly unfortunate whose souls are compelled to pass through
life always hungering?
Cleinias. Then that is one cause, Stranger; but you spoke of another.
Athenian. Thank you for reminding me.
Cleinias. The insatiable life long love of wealth, as you were saying is one clause which
absorbs mankind, and prevents them from rightly practising the arts of war:—Granted;
and now tell me, what is the other?
Athenian. Do you imagine that I delay because I am in a perplexity?
Cleinias. No; but we think that you are too severe upon the money–loving temper, of
which you seem in the present discussion to have a peculiar dislike.
Athenian. That is a very fair rebuke, Cleinias; and I will now proceed to the second
cause.
Cleinias. Proceed.
Athenian. I say that governments are a cause—democracy, oligarchy, tyranny,
concerning which I have often spoken in the previous discourse; or rather governments
they are not, for none of them exercises a voluntary rule over voluntary subjects; but
they may be truly called states of discord, in which while the government is voluntary,
the subjects always obey against their will, and have to be coerced; and the ruler fears
the subject, and will not, if he can help, allow him to become either noble, or rich, or
strong, or valiant, or warlike at all. These two are the chief causes of almost all evils, and
of the evils of which I have been speaking they are notably the causes. But our state has
escaped both of them; for her citizens have the greatest leisure, and they are not subject
to one another, and will, I think, be made by these laws the reverse of lovers of money.
Such a constitution may be reasonably supposed to be the only one existing which will
accept the education which we have described, and the martial pastimes which have
been perfected according to our idea.
Cleinias. True.
Athenian. Then next we must remember, about all gymnastic contests, that only the
warlike sort of them are to be practised and to have prizes of victory; and those which
are not military are to be given up. The military sort had better be completely described
and established by law; and first, let us speak of running and swiftness.
Cleinias. Very good.
Athenian. Certainly the most military of all qualities is general activity of body, whether
of foot or hand. For escaping or for capturing an enemy, quickness of foot is required;
but hand–to–hand conflict and combat need vigour and strength.
Cleinias. Very true.
Athenian. Neither of them can attain their greatest efficiency without arms.
Cleinias. How can they?
Athenian. Then our herald, in accordance with the prevailing practice, will first summon
the runner;—he will appear armed, for to an unarmed competitor we will not give a
prize. And he shall enter first who is to run the single course bearing arms; next, he who
is to run the double course; third, he who is to run the horse–course; and fourthly, he
who is to run the long course; the fifth whom we start, shall be the first sent forth in
heavy armour, and shall run a course of sixty stadia to some temple of Ares—and we will
send forth another, whom we will style the more heavily armed, to run over smoother
ground. There remains the archer; and he shall run in the full equipments of an archer a
distance of 100 stadia over mountains, and across every sort of country, to a temple of
Apollo and Artemis; this shall be the order of the contest, and we will wait for them until
they return, and will give a prize to the conqueror in each.
Cleinias. Very good.
Athenian. Let us suppose that there are three kinds of contests—one of boys, another of
beardless youths, and a third of men. For the youths we will fix the length of the contest
at two–thirds, and for the boys at half of the entire course, whether they contend as
archers or as heavy armed. Touching the women, let the girls who are not grown up
compete naked in the stadium and the double course, and the horse–course and the
long course, and let them run on the race–ground itself; those who are thirteen years of
age and upwards until their marriage shall continue to share in contests if they are not
more than twenty, and shall be compelled to run up to eighteen; and they shall descend
into the arena in suitable dresses. Let these be the regulations about contests in running
both for men and women.
Respecting contests of strength, instead of wrestling and similar contests of the heavier
sort, we will institute conflicts in armour of one against one, and two against two, and so
on up to ten against ten. As to what a man ought not to suffer or do, and to what extent,
in order to gain the victory—as in wrestling, the masters of the art have laid down what
is fair and what is not fair, so in fighting in armour—we ought to call in skilful persons,
who shall judge for us and be our assessors in the work of legislation; they shall say who
deserves to be victor in combats of this sort, and what he is not to do or have done to
him, and in like manner what rule determines who is defeated; and let these ordinances
apply to women until they married as well as to men. The pancration shall have a
counterpart in a combat of the light armed; they shall contend with bows and with light
shields and with javelins and in the throwing of stones by slings and by hand: and laws
shall be made about it, and rewards and prizes given to him who best fulfils the
ordinances of the law.
Next in order we shall have to legislate about the horse contests. Now we do not need
many horses, for they cannot be of much use in a country like Crete, and hence we
naturally do not take great pains about the rearing of them or about horse races. There
is no one who keeps a chariot among us, and any rivalry in such matters would be
altogether out of place; there would be no sense nor any shadow of sense in instituting
contests which are not after the manner of our country. And therefore we give our prizes
for single horses—for colts who have not yet cast their teeth, and for those who are
intermediate, and for the full–grown horses themselves; and thus our equestrian games
will accord with the nature of the country. Let them have conflict and rivalry in these
matters in accordance with the law, and let the colonels and generals of horse decide
together about all courses and about the armed competitors in them. But we have
nothing to say to the unarmed either in gymnastic exercises or in these contests. On the
other hand, the Cretan bowman or javelin–man who fights in armour on horseback is
useful, and therefore we may as well place a competition of this sort among
amusements. Women are not to be forced to compete by laws and ordinances; but if
from previous training they have acquired the habit and are strong enough and like to
take part, let them do so, girls as well as boys, and no blame to them.
Thus the competition in gymnastic and the mode of learning it have been described; and
we have spoken also of the toils of the contest, and of daily exercises under the
superintendence of masters. Likewise, what relates to music has been, for the most part,
completed. But as to rhapsodes and the like, and the contests of choruses which are to
perform at feasts, all this shall be arranged when the months and days and years have
been appointed for Gods and demi–gods, whether every third year, or again every fifth
year, or in whatever way or manner the Gods may put into men’s minds the distribution
and order of them. At the same time, we may expect that the musical contests will be
celebrated in their turn by the command of the judges and the director of education and
the guardians of the law meeting together for this purpose, and themselves becoming
legislators of the times and nature and conditions of the choral contests and of dancing
in general. What they ought severally to be in language and song, and in the admixture
of harmony with rhythm and the dance, has been often declared by the original
legislator; and his successors ought to follow him, making the games and sacrifices duly
to correspond at fitting times, and appointing public festivals. It is not difficult to
determine how these and the like matters may have a regular order; nor, again, will the
alteration of them do any great good or harm to the state. There is, however, another
matter of great importance and difficulty, concerning which God should legislate, if
there were any possibility of obtaining from him an ordinance about it. But seeing that
divine aid is not to be had, there appears to be a need of some bold man who specially
honours plainness of speech, and will say outright what he thinks best for the city and
citizens—ordaining what is good and convenient for the whole state amid the
corruptions of human souls, opposing the mightiest lusts, and having no man his helper
but himself standing alone and following reason only.
Cleinias. What is this, Stranger, that you are saying? For we do not as yet understand
your meaning.
Athenian. Very likely; I will endeavour to explain myself more clearly. When I came to
the subject of education, I beheld young men and maidens holding friendly intercourse
with one another. And there naturally arose in my mind a sort of apprehension—I could
not help thinking how one is to deal with a city in which youths and maidens are well
nurtured, and have nothing to do, and are not undergoing the excessive and servile toils
which extinguish wantonness, and whose only cares during their whole life are sacrifices
and festivals and dances. How, in such a state as this, will they abstain from desires
which thrust many a man and woman into perdition; and from which reason, assuming
the functions of law, commands them to abstain? The ordinances already made may
possibly get the better of most of these desires; the prohibition of excessive wealth is a
very considerable gain in the direction of temperance, and the whole education of our
youth imposes a law of moderation on them; moreover, the eye of the rulers is required
always to watch over the young, and never to lose sight of them; and these provisions do,
as far as human means can effect anything, exercise a regulating influence upon the
desires in general. But how can we take precautions against the unnatural loves of either
sex, from which innumerable evils have come upon individuals and cities? How shall we
devise a remedy and way of escape out of so great a danger? Truly, Cleinias, here is a
difficulty. In many ways Crete and Lacedaemon furnish a great help to those who make
peculiar laws; but in the matter of love, as we are alone, I must confess that they are
quite against us. For if any one following nature should lay down the law which existed
before the days of Laius, and denounce these lusts as contrary to nature, adducing the
animals as a proof that such unions were monstrous, he might prove his point, but he
would be wholly at variance with the custom of your states. Further, they are repugnant
to a principle which we say that a legislator should always observe; for we are always
enquiring which of our enactments tends to virtue and which not. And suppose we grant
that these loves are accounted by law to be honourable, or at least not disgraceful, in
what degree will they contribute to virtue? Will such passions implant in the soul of him
who is seduced the habit of courage, or in the soul of the seducer the principle of
temperance? Who will ever believe this?—or rather, who will not blame the effeminacy
of him who yields to pleasures and is unable to hold out against them? Will not all men
censure as womanly him who imitates the woman? And who would ever think of
establishing such a practice by law? Certainly no one who had in his mind the image of
true law. How can we prove, that what I am saying is true? He who would rightly
consider these matters must see the nature of friendship and desire, and of these so–
called loves, for they are of two kinds, and out of the two arises a third kind, having the
same name; and this similarity of name causes all the difficulty and obscurity.
Cleinias. How is that?
Athenian. Dear is the like in virtue to the like, and the equal to the equal; dear also,
though unlike, is he who has abundance to him who is in want. And when either of these
friendships becomes excessive, we term the excess love.
Cleinias. Very true.
Athenian. The friendship which arises from contraries is horrible and coarse, and has
often no tie of communion; but that which, arises from likeness is gentle, and has a tie of
communion which lasts through life. As to the mixed sort which is made up of them
both, there is, first of all, a in determining what he who is possessed by this third love
desires; moreover, he is drawn different ways, and is in doubt between the two
principles; the one exhorting him to enjoy the beauty of youth, and the other forbidding
him. For the one is a lover of the body, and hungers after beauty, like ripe fruit, and
would fain satisfy himself without any regard to the character of the beloved; the other
holds the desire of the body to be a secondary matter, and looking rather than loving
and with his soul desiring the soul of the other in a becoming manner, regards the
satisfaction of the bodily love as wantonness; he reverences and respects temperance
and courage and magnanimity and wisdom, and wishes to live chastely with the chaste
object of his affection. Now the sort of love which is made up of the other two is that
which we have described as the third. Seeing then that there are these three sorts of
love, ought the law to prohibit and forbid them all to exist among us? Is it not rather
clear that we should wish to have in the state the love which is of virtue and which
desires the beloved youth to be the best possible; and the other two, if possible, we
should hinder? What do you say, friend Megillus?
Megillus. I think, Stranger, that you are perfectly right in what you have been now
saying.
Athenian. I knew well, my friend, that I should obtain your assent, which I accept, and
therefore have no need to analyse your custom any further. Cleinias shall be prevailed
upon to give me his assent at some other time. Enough of this; and now let us proceed to
the laws.
Megillus. Very good.
Athenian. Upon reflection I see a way of imposing the law, which, in one respect, is easy,
but, in another, is of the utmost difficulty.
Megillus. What do you mean?
Athenian. We are all aware that most men, in spite of their lawless natures, are very
strictly and precisely restrained from intercourse with the fair, and this is not at all
against their will, but entirely with their will.
Megillus. When do you mean?
Athenian. When any one has a brother or sister who is fair; and about a son or daughter
the same unwritten law holds, and is a most perfect safeguard, so that no open or secret
connection ever takes place between them. Nor does the thought of such a thing ever
enter at all into the minds of most of them.
Megillus. Very true.
Athenian. Does not a little word extinguish all pleasures of that sort?
Megillus. What word?
Athenian. The declaration that they are unholy, hated of God, and most infamous; and
is not the reason of this that no one has ever said the opposite, but every one from his
earliest childhood has heard men speaking in the same manner about them always and
everywhere, whether in comedy or in the graver language of tragedy? When the poet
introduces on the stage a Thyestes or an Oedipus, or a Macareus having secret
intercourse with his sister, he represents him, when found out, ready to kill himself as
the penalty of his sin.
Megillus. You are very right in saying that tradition, if no breath of opposition ever
assails it, has a marvellous power.
Athenian. Am I not also right in saying that the legislator who wants to master any of
the passions which master man may easily know how to subdue them? He will
consecrate the tradition of their evil character among all, slaves and freemen, women
and children, throughout the city:—that will be the surest foundation of the law which
he can make.
Megillus. Yes; but will he ever succeed in making all mankind use the same language
about them?
Athenian. A good objection; but was I not just now saying that I had a way to make men
use natural love and abstain from unnatural, not intentionally destroying the seeds of
human increase, or sowing them in stony places, in which they will take no root; and
that I would command them to abstain too from any female field of increase in which
that which is sown is not likely to grow? Now if a law to this effect could only be made
perpetual, and gain an authority such as already prevents intercourse of parents and
children—such a law, extending to other sensual desires, and conquering them, would
be the source of ten thousand blessings. For, in the first place, moderation is the
appointment of nature, and deters men from all frenzy and madness of love, and from
all adulteries and immoderate use of meats and drinks, and makes them good friends to
their own wives. And innumerable other benefits would result if such a could only be
enforced. I can imagine some lusty youth who is standing by, and who, on hearing this
enactment, declares in scurrilous terms that we are making foolish and impossible laws,
and fills the world with his outcry. And therefore I said that I knew a way of enacting
and perpetuating such a law, which was very easy in one respect, but in another most
difficult. There is no difficulty in seeing that such a law is possible, and in what way; for,
as I was saying, the ordinance once consecrated would master the soul of, every man,
and terrify him into obedience. But matters have now come to such a pass that even
then the desired result seems as if it could not be attained, just as the continuance of an
entire state in the practice of common meals is also deemed impossible. And although
this latter is partly disproven by the fact of their existence among you, still even in your
cities the common meals of women would be regarded as unnatural and impossible. I
was thinking of the rebelliousness of the human heart when I said that the permanent
establishment of these things is very difficult.
Megillus. Very true.
Athenian. Shall I try and find some sort of persuasive argument which will prove to you
that such enactments are possible, and not beyond human nature?
Cleinias. By all means.
Athenian. Is a man more likely to abstain from the pleasures of love and to do what he is
bidden about them, when his body is in a good condition, or when he is in an ill
condition, and out of training?
Cleinias. He will be far more temperate when he is in training.
Athenian. And have we not heard of Iccus of Tarentum, who, with a view to the Olympic
and other contests, in his zeal for his art, ind also because he was of a manly and
temperate disposition, never had any connection with a woman or a youth during the
whole time of his training? And the same is said of Crison and Astylus and Diopompus
and many others; and yet, Cleinias, they were far worse educated in their minds than
your and my citizens, and in their bodies far more lusty.
Cleinias. No doubt this fact has been often affirmed positively by the ancients of these
athletes.
Athenian. And had they; courage to abstain from what is ordinarilly deemed a pleasure
for the sake of a victory in wrestling, running, and the like; and shall our young men be
incapable of a similar endurance for the sake of a much nobler victory, which is the
noblest of all, as from their youth upwards we will tell them, charming them, as we
hope, into the belief of this by tales and sayings and songs?
Cleinias. Of what victory are you speaking?
Athenian. Of the victory over pleasure, which if they win, they will live happily; or if they
are conquered, the reverse of happily. And, further, may we not suppose that the fear of
impiety will enable them to master that which other inferior people have mastered?
Cleinias. I dare say.
Athenian. And since we have reached this point in our legislation, and have fallen into a
difficulty by reason of the vices of mankind, I affirm that our ordinance should simply
run in the following terms: Our citizens ought not to fall below the nature of birds and
beasts in general, who are born in great multitudes, and yet remain until the age for
procreation virgin and unmarried, but when they have reached the proper time of life
are coupled, male and female, and lovingly pair together, and live the rest of their lives
in holiness and innocence, abiding firmly in their original compact:—surely, we will say
to them, you should be better than the animals. But if they are corrupted by the other
Hellenes and the common practice of barbarians, and they see with their eyes and hear
with their ears of the so–called free love everywhere prevailing among them, and they
themselves are not able to get the better of the temptation, the guardians of the law,
exercising the functions of lawgivers, shall devise a second law against them.
Cleinias. And what law would you advise them to pass if this one failed?
Athenian. Clearly, Cleinias, the one which would naturally follow.
Cleinias. What is that?
Athenian. Our citizens should not allow pleasures to strengthen with indulgence, but
should by toil divert the aliment and exuberance of them into other parts of the body;
and this will happen if no immodesty be allowed in the practice of love. Then they will
be ashamed of frequent intercourse, and they will find pleasure, if seldom enjoyed, to be
a less imperious mistress. They should not be found out doing anything of the sort.
Concealment shall be honourable, and sanctioned by custom and made law by unwritten
prescription; on the other hand, to be detected shall be esteemed dishonourable, but
not, to abstain wholly. In this way there will be a second legal standard of honourable
and dishonourable, involving a second notion of right. Three principles will comprehend
all those corrupt natures whom we call inferior to themselves, and who form but one
dass, and will compel them not to transgress.
Cleinias. What are they?
Athenian. The principle of piety, the love of honour, and the desire of beauty, not in the
body but in the soul. These are, perhaps, romantic aspirations; but they are the noblest
of aspirations, if they could only be realized in all states, and, God willing, in the matter
of love we may be able to enforce one of two things—either that no one shall venture to
touch any person of the freeborn or noble class except his wedded wife, or sow the
unconsecrated and bastard seed among harlots, or in barren and unnatural lusts; or at
least we may abolish altogether the connection of men with men; and as to women, if
any man has to do with any but those who come into his house duly married by sacred
rites, whether they be bought or acquired in any other way, and he offends publicly in
the face of all mankind, we shall be right in enacting that he be deprived of civic honours
and privileges, and be deemed to be, as he truly is, a stranger. Let this law, then,
whether it is one, or ought rather to be called two, be laid down respecting love in
general, and the intercourse of the sexes which arises out of the desires, whether rightly
or wrongly indulged.
Megillus. I, for my part, Stranger, would gladly receive this law. Cleinias shall speak for
himself, and tell you what is his opinion.
Cleinias. I will, Megillus, when an opportunity offers; at present, I think that we had
better allow the Stranger to proceed with his laws.
Megillus. Very good.
Athenian. We had got about as far as the establishment of the common tables, which in
most places would be difficult, but in Crete no one would think of introducing any other
custom. There might arise a question about the manner of them—whether they shall be
such as they are here in Crete, or such as they are in Lacedaemon,—or is there a third
kind which may be better than either of them? The answer to this question might be
easily discovered, but the discovery would do no great good, for at present they are very
well ordered.
Leaving the common tables, we may therefore proceed to the means of providing food.
Now, in cities the means of life are gained in many ways and from divers sources, and in
general from two sources, whereas our city has only one. For most of the Hellenes
obtain their food from sea and land, but our citizens from land only. And this makes the
task of the legislator less difficult—half as many laws will be enough, and much less than
half; and they will be of a kind better suited to free men. For he has nothing to do with
laws about shipowners and merchants and retailers and innkeepers and tax collectors
and mines and moneylending and compound interest and innumerable other things—
bidding good–bye to these, he gives laws to husbandmen and shepherds and bee–
keepers, and to the guardians and superintendents of their implements; and he has
already legislated for greater matters, as for example, respecting marriage and the
procreation and nurture of children, and for education, and the establishment of
offices—and now he must direct his laws to those who provide food and labour in
preparing it.
Let us first of all, then, have a class of laws which shall be called the laws of
husbandmen. And let the first of them be the law of Zeus, the god of boundaries. Let no
one shift the boundary line either of a fellow–citizen who is a neighbour, or, if he dwells
at the extremity of the land, of any stranger who is conterminous with him, considering
that this is truly “to move the immovable,” and every one should be more willing to
move the largest rock which is not a landmark, than the least stone which is the sworn
mark of friendship and hatred between neighbours; for Zeus, the god of kindred, is the
witness of the citizen, and Zeus, the god of strangers, of the stranger, and when aroused,
terrible are the wars which they stir up. He who obeys the law will never know the fatal
consequences of disobedience, but he who despises the law shall be liable to a double
penalty, the first coming from the Gods, and the second from the law. For let no one
wilfully remove the boundaries of his neighbour’s land, and if any one does, let him who
will inform the landowners, and let them bring him into court, and if he be convicted of
re–dividing the land by stealth or by force, let the court determine what he ought to
suffer or pay. In the next place, many small injuries done by neighbours to one another,
through their multiplication, may cause a weight of enmity, and make neighbourhood a
very disagreeable and bitter thing. Wherefore a man ought to be very careful of
committing any offence against his neighbour, and especially of encroaching on his
neighbour’s land; for any man may easily do harm, but not every man can do good to
another. He who encroaches on his neighbour’s land, and transgresses his boundaries,
shall make good the damage, and, to cure him of his impudence and also of his
meanness, he shall pay a double penalty to the injured party. Of these and the like
matters the wardens of the country shall take cognizance, and be the judges of them and
assessors of the damage; in the more important cases, as has been already said, the
whole number of them belonging to any one of the twelve divisions shall decide, and in
the lesser cases the commanders: or, again, if any one pastures his cattle on his
neighbour’s land, they shall see the injury, and adjudge the penalty. And if any one, by
decoying the bees, gets possession of another’s swarms, and draws them to himself by
making noises, he shall pay the damage; or if anyone sets fire to his own wood and takes
no care of his neighbour’s property, he shall be fined at the discretion of the magistrates.
And if in planting he does not leave a fair distance between his own and his neighbour’s
land, he shall be punished, in accordance with the enactments of many law givers, which
we may use, not deeming it necessary that the great legislator of our state should
determine all the trifles which might be decided by any body; for example, husbandmen
have had of old excellent laws about waters, and there is no reason why we should
propose to divert their course: who likes may draw water from the fountain–head of the
common stream on to his own land, if he do not cut off the spring which clearly belongs
to some other owner; and he may take the water in any direction which he pleases,
except through a house or temple or sepulchre, but he must be careful to do no harm
beyond the channel. And if there be in any place a natural dryness of the earth, which
keeps in the rain from heaven, and causes a deficiency in the supply of water, let him dig
down on his own land as far as the clay, and if at this depth he finds no water, let him
obtain water from his neighbours, as much, as is required for his servants’ drinking, and
if his neighbours, too, are limited in their supply, let him have a fixed measure, which
shall be determined by the wardens of the country. This he shall receive each day, and
on these terms have a share of his neighbours’ water. If there be heavy rain, and one of
those on the lower ground injures some tiller of the upper ground, or some one who has
a common wall, by refusing to give the man outlet for water; or, again, if some one living
on the higher ground recklessly lets off the water on his lower neighbour, and they
cannot come to terms with one another, let him who will call in a warden of the city, if
he be in the city, or if he be in the country, warden of the country, and let him obtain a
decision determining what each of them is to do. And he who will not abide by the
decision shall suffer for his malignant and morose temper, and pay a fine to the injured
party, equivalent to double the value of the injury, because he was unwilling to submit to
the magistrates.
Now the participation of fruits shall be ordered on this wise. The goddess of Autumn has
two gracious gifts: one, the joy of Dionysus which is not treasured up; the other, which
nature intends to be stored. Let this be the law, then, concerning the fruits of autumn:
He who tastes the common or storing fruits of autumn, whether grapes or figs, before
the season of vintage which coincides with Arcturus, either on his own land or on that of
others—let him pay fifty drachmae, which shall be sacred to Dionysus, if he pluck them
from his own land; and if from his neighbour’s land, a mina, and if from any others’,
two–thirds of a mina. And he who would gather the “choice” grapes or the “choice” figs,
as they are now termed, if he take them off his own land, let him pluck them how and
when he likes; but if he take them from the ground of others without their leave, let him
in that case be always punished in accordance with the law which ordains that he should
not move what he has not laid down. And if a slave touches any fruit of this sort, without
the consent of the owner of the land, he shall be beaten with as many blows as there are
grapes on the bunch, or figs on the fig–tree. Let a metic purchase the “choice” autumnal
fruit, and then, if he pleases, he may gather it; but if a stranger is passing along the road,
and desires to eat, let him take of the “choice” grapes for himself and a single follower
without payment, as a tribute of hospitality. The law however forbids strangers from
sharing in the sort which is not used for eating; and if any one, whether he be master or
slave, takes of them in ignorance, let the slave be beaten, and the freeman dismissed
with admonitions, and instructed to take of the other autumnal fruits which are unfit for
making raisins and wine, or for laying by as dried figs. As to pears, and apples, and
pomegranates, and similar fruits, there shall be no disgrace in taking them secretly; but
he who is caught, if he be of less than thirty years of age, shall be struck and beaten off,
but not wounded; and no freeman shall have any right of satisfaction for such blows. Of
these fruits the stranger may partake, just as he may of the fruits of autumn. And if an
elder, who is more than thirty years of age, eat of them on the spot, let him, like the
stranger, be allowed to partake of all such fruits, but he must carry away nothing. If,
however, he will not obey the law, let him run risk of failing in the competition of virtue,
in case any one takes notice of his actions before the judges at the time.
Water is the greatest element of nutrition in gardens, but is easily polluted. You cannot
poison the soil, or the soil, or the sun, or the air, which are other elements of nutrition in
plants, or divert them, or steal them; but all these things may very likely happen in
regard to water, which must therefore be protected by law. And let this be the law:—If
any one intentionally pollutes the water of another, whether the water of a spring, or
collected in reservoirs, either by poisonous substances, or by digging or by theft, let the
injured party bring the cause before the wardens of the city, and claim in writing the
value of the loss; if the accused be found guilty of injuring the water by deleterious
substances, let him not only pay damages, but purify the stream or the cistern which
contains the water, in such manner as the laws of the interpreters order the purification
to be made by the offender in each case.
With respect to the gathering in of the fruits of the soil, let a man, if he pleases, carry his
own fruits through any place in which he either does no harm to any one, or himself
gains three times as much as his neighbour loses. Now of these things the magistrates
should be cognisant, as of all other things in which a man intentionally does injury to
another or to the property of another, by fraud or force, in the use which he makes of his
own property. All these matters a man should lay before the magistrates, and receive
damages, supposing the injury to be not more than three minae; or if he have a charge
against another which involves a larger amount, let him bring his suit into the public
courts and have the evil–doer punished. But if any of the magistrates appear to adjudge
the penalties which he imposes in an unjust spirit, let him be liable to pay double to the
injured party. Any one may bring the offences of magistrates, in any particular case,
before the public courts. There are innumerable little matters relating to the modes of
punishment, and applications for suits, and summonses and the witnesses to
summonses—for example, whether two witnesses should be required for a summons, or
how many—and all such details, which cannot be omitted in legislation, but are beneath
the wisdom of an aged legislator. These lesser matters, as they indeed are in comparison
with the greater ones, let a younger generation regulate by law, after the patterns which
have preceded, and according to their own experience of the usefulness and necessity of
such laws; and when they are duly regulated let there be no alteration, but let the
citizens live in the observance of them.
Now of artisans, let the regulations be as follows:—In the first place, let no citizen or
servant of a citizen be occupied in handicraft arts; for he who is to secure and preserve
the public order of the state, has an art which requires much study and many kinds of
knowledge, and does not admit of being made a secondary occupation; and hardly any
human being is capable of pursuing two professions or two arts rightly, or of practising
one art himself, and superintending some one else who is practising another. Let this,
then, be our first principle in the state:—No one who is a smith shall also be a carpenter,
and if he be a carpenter, he shall not superintend the smith’s art rather than his own,
under the pretext that in superintending many servants who are working for him, he is
likely to superintend them better, because more revenue will accrue to him from them
than from his own art; but let every man in the state have one art, and get his living by
that. Let the wardens of the city labour to maintain this law, and if any citizen incline to
any other art than the study of virtue, let them punish him with disgrace and infamy,
until they bring him back into his own right course; and if any stranger profess two arts,
let them chastise him with bonds and money penalties, and expulsion from the state,
until they compel him to be one only and not many.
But as touching payments for hire, and contracts of work, or in case any one does wrong
to any of the citizens or they do wrong to any other, up to fifty drachmae, let the
wardens of the city decide the case; but if greater amount be involved, then let the public
courts decide according to law. Let no one pay any duty either on the importation or
exportation of goods; and as to frankincense and similar perfumes, used in the service of
the Gods, which come from abroad, and purple and other dyes which are not produced
in the country, or the materials of any art which have to be imported, and which are not
necessary—no one should import them; nor again, should any one export anything
which is wanted in the country. Of all these things let there be inspectors and
superintendents, taken from the guardians of the law; and they shall be the twelve next
in order to the five seniors. Concerning arms, and all implements which are for military
purposes, if there be need of introducing any art, or plant, or metal, or chains of any
kind, or animals for use in war, let the commanders of the horse and the generals have
authority over their importation and exportation; the city shall send them out and also
receive them, and the guardians of the law shall make fit and proper laws about them.
But let there be no retail trade for the sake of money–making, either in these or any
other articles, in the city or country at all.
With respect to food and the distribution of the produce of the country, the right and
proper way seems to be nearly that which is the custom of Crete; for all should be
required to distribute the fruits of the soil into twelve parts, and in this way consume
them. Let the twelfth portion of each (as for instance of wheat and barley, to which the
rest of the fruits of the earth shall be added, as well as the animals which are for sale in
each of the twelve divisions) be divided in due proportion into three parts; one part for
freemen, another for their servants, and a third for craftsmen and in general for
strangers, whether sojourners who may be dwelling in the city, and like other men must
live, or those who come on some business which they have with the state, or with some
individual. Let only this third part of all necessaries be required to be sold; out of the
other two–thirds no one shall be compelled to sell. And how will they be best
distributed? In the first place, we see clearly that the distribution will be of equals in one
point of view, and in another point of view of unequals.
Cleinias. What do you mean?
Athenian. I mean that the earth of necessity produces and nourishes the various articles
of food, sometimes better and sometimes worse.
Cleinias. Of course.
Athenian. Such being the case, let no one of the three portions be greater than either of
the other two—neither that which is assigned to masters or to slaves, nor again that of
the stranger; but let the distribution to all be equal and alike, and let every citizen take
his two portions and distribute them among slaves and freemen, he having power to
determine the quantity and quality. And what remains he shall distribute by measure
and numb among the animals who have to be sustained from the earth, taking the whole
number of them.
In the second place, our citizens should have separate houses duly ordered, and this will
be the order proper for men like them. There shall be twelve hamlets, one in the middle
of each twelfth portion, and in each hamlet they shall first set apart a market–place, and
the temples of the Gods, and of their attendant demigods; and if there be any local
deities of the Magnetes, or holy seats of other ancient deities, whose memory has been
preserved, to these let them pay their ancient honours. But Hestia, and Zeus, and
Athene will have temples everywhere together with the God who presides in each of the
twelve districts. And the first erection of houses shall be around these temples, where
the ground is highest, in order to provide the safest and most defensible place of retreat
for the guards. All the rest of the country they shall settle in the following manner:—
They shall make thirteen divisions of the craftsmen; one of them they shall establish in
the city, and this, again, they shall subdivide into twelve lesser divisions, among the
twelve districts of the city, and the remainder shall be distributed in the country round
about; and in each village they shall settle various classes of craftsmen, with a view to
the convenience of the husbandmen. And the chief officers of the wardens of the country
shall superintend all these matters, and see how many of them, and which class of them,
each place requires; and fix them where they are likely to be least troublesome, and
most useful to the husbandman. And the wardens of the city shall see to similar matters
in the city.
Now the wardens of the agora ought to see to the details of the agora. Their first care,
after the temples which are in the agora have been seen to, should be to prevent any one
from doing any in dealings between man and man; in the second; place, as being
inspectors of temperance and violence, they should chastise him who requires
chastisement. Touching articles of gale, they should first see whether the articles which
the citizens are under regulations to sell to strangers are sold to them, as the law
ordains. And let the law be as follows:—on the first day of the month, the persons in
charge, whoever they are, whether strangers or slaves, who have the charge on behalf of
the citizens, shall produce to the strangers the portion which falls to them, in the first
place, a twelfth portion of the corn;—the stranger shall purchase corn for the whole
month, and other cereals, on the first market day; and on the tenth day of the month the
one party shall sell, and the other buy, liquids sufficient to last during the whole month;
and on the twenty–third day there shall be a sale of animals by those who are willing to
sell to the people who want to buy, and of implements and other things which
husbandmen sell (such as skins and all kinds of clothing, either woven or made of felt
and other goods of the same sort), and which strangers are compelled to buy and
purchase of others. As to the retail trade in these things, whether of barley or wheat set
apart for meal and flour, or any other kind of food, no one shall sell them to citizens or
their slaves, nor shall any one buy of a citizen; but let the stranger sell them in the
market of strangers, to artisans and their slaves, making an exchange of wine and food,
which is commonly called retail trade. And butchers shall offer for sale parts of
dismembered animals to the strangers, and artisans, and their servants. Let any
stranger who likes buy fuel from day to day wholesale, from those who have the care of it
in the country, and let him sell to the strangers as much he pleases and when he pleases.
As to other goods and implements which are likely to be wanted, they shall sell them in
common market, at any place which the guardians of the law and the wardens of the
market and city, choosing according to their judgment, shall determine; at such places
they shall exchange money for goods, and goods for money, neither party giving credit
to the other; and he who gives credit must be satisfied, whether he obtain his money not,
for in such exchanges he will not be protected by law. But whenever property has been
bought or sold, greater in quantity or value than is allowed by the law, which has
determined within what limited a man may increase and diminish his possessions, let
the excess be registered in the books of the guardians of the law; in case of diminution,
let there be an erasure made. And let the same rule be observed about the registration of
the property of the metics. Any one who likes may come and be a metic on certain
conditions; a foreigner, if he likes, and is able to settle, may dwell in the land, but he
must practise an art, and not abide more than twenty years from the time at which he
has registered himself; and he shall pay no sojourner’s tax, however small, except good
conduct, nor any other tax for buying and selling. But when the twenty years have
expired, he shall take his property with him and depart. And if in the course of these
years he should chance to distinguish himself by any considerable benefit which he
confers on the state, and he thinks that he can persuade the council and assembly, either
to grant him delay in leaving the country, or to allow him to remain for the whole of his
life, let him go and persuade the city, and whatever they assent to at his instance shall
take effect. For the children of the metics, being artisans, and of fifteen years of age, let
the time of their sojourn commence after their fifteenth year; and let them remain for
twenty years, and then go where they like; but any of them who wishes to remain, may
do so, if he can persuade the council and assembly. And if he depart, let him erase all the
entries which have been made by him in the register kept by the magistrates.
BOOK IX
Next to all the matters which have preceded in the natural order of legislation will come
suits of law. Of suits those which relate to agriculture have been already described, but
the more important have not been described. Having mentioned them severally under
their usual names, we will proceed to say what punishments are to be inflicted for each
offence, and who are to be the judges of them.
Cleinias. Very good.
Athenian Stranger. There is a sense of disgrace in legislating, as we are about to do, for
all the details of crime in a state which, as we say, is to be well regulated and will be
perfectly adapted to the practice of virtue. To assume that in such a state there will arise
some one who will be guilty of crimes as heinous as any which are ever perpetrated in
other states, and that we must legislate for him by anticipation, and threaten and make
laws against him if he should arise, in order to deter him, and punish his acts, under the
idea that he will arise—this, as I was saying, is in a manner disgraceful. Yet seeing that
we are not like the ancient legislators, who gave laws to heroes and sons of gods, being,
according to the popular belief, themselves the offspring of the gods, and legislating for
others, who were also the children of divine parents, but that we are only men who are
legislating for the sons of men, there is no uncharitableness in apprehending that some
one of our citizens may be like a seed which has touched the ox’s horn, having a heart so
hard that it cannot be softened any more than those seeds can be softened by fire.
Among our citizens there may be those who cannot be subdued by all the strength of the
laws; and for their sake, though an ungracious task, I will proclaim my first law about
the robbing of temples, in case any one should dare to commit such a crime. I do not
expect or imagine that any well–brought–up citizen will ever take the infection, but
their servants, and strangers, and strangers’ servants may be guilty of many impieties.
And with a view to them especially, and yet not without a provident eye to the weakness
of human nature generally, I will proclaim the law about robbers of temples and similar
incurable, or almost incurable, criminals. Having already agreed that such enactments
ought always to have a short prelude, we may speak to the criminal, whom some
tormenting desire by night and by day tempts to go and rob a temple, the fewest possible
words of admonition and exhortation:—O sir, we will say to him, the impulse which
moves you to rob temples is not an ordinary human malady, nor yet a visitation of
heaven, but a madness which is begotten in a man from ancient and unexpiated crimes
of his race, an ever–recurring curse;—against this you must guard with all your might,
and how you are to guard we will explain to you. When any such thought comes into
your mind, go and perform expiations, go as a suppliant to the temples of the Gods who
avert evils, go to the society of those who are called good men among you; hear them tell
and yourself try to repeat after them, that every man should honour the noble and the
just. Fly from the company of the wicked—fly and turn not back; and if your disorder is
lightened by these remedies, well and good, but if not, then acknowledge death to be
nobler than life, and depart hence.
Such are the preludes which we sing to all who have thoughts of unholy and treasonable
actions, and to him who hearkens to them the law has nothing to say. But to him who is
disobedient when the prelude is over, cry with a loud voice,—He who is taken in the act
of robbing temples, if he be a slave or stranger, shall have his evil deed engraven on his
face and hands, and shall be beaten with as many stripes as may seem good to the
judges, and be cast naked beyond the borders of the land. And if he suffers this
punishment he will probably return to his right mind and be improved; for no penalty
which the law inflicts is designed for evil, but always makes him who suffers either
better or not so much worse as he would have been. But if any citizen be found guilty of
any great or unmentionable wrong, either in relation to the gods, or his parents, or the
state, let the judge deem him to be incurable, remembering that after receiving such an
excellent education and training from youth upward, he has not abstained from the
greatest of crimes. His punishment shall be death, which to him will be the least of evils;
and his example will benefit others, if he perish ingloriously, and be cast beyond the
borders of the land. But let his children and family, if they avoid the ways of their father,
have glory, and let honourable mention be made of them, as having nobly and manfully
escaped out of evil into good. None of them should have their goods confiscated to the
state, for the lots of the citizens ought always to continue the same and equal.
Touching the exaction of penalties, when a man appears to have done anything which
deserves a fine, he shall pay the fine, if he have anything in excess of the lot which is
assigned to him; but more than that he shall not pay. And to secure exactness, let the
guardians of the law refer to the registers, and inform the judges of the precise truth, in
order that none of the lots may go uncultivated for want of money. But if any one seems
to deserve a greater penalty, let him undergo a long and public imprisonment and be
dishonoured, unless some of his friends are willing to be surety for him, and liberate
him by assisting him to pay the fine. No criminal shall go unpunished, not even for a
single offence, nor if he have fled the country; but let the penalty be according to his
deserts—death, or bonds, or blows, or degrading places of sitting or standing, or
removal to some temple on the borders of the land; or let him pay fines, as we said
before. In cases of death, let the judges be the guardians of the law, and a court selected
by merit from the last year’s magistrates. But how the causes are to be brought into to
court, how the summonses are to be served, the like, these things may be left to the
younger generation of legislators to determine; the manner of voting we must determine
ourselves.
Let the vote be given openly; but before they come to the vote let the judges sit in order
of seniority over against plaintiff and defendant, and let all the citizens who can spare
time hear and take a serious interest in listening to such causes. First of all the plaintiff
shall make one speech, and then the defendant shall make another; and after the
speeches have been made the eldest judge shall begin to examine the parties, and
proceed to make an adequate enquiry into what has been said; and after the oldest has
spoken, the rest shall proceed in order to examine either party as to what he finds
defective in the evidence, whether of statement or omission; and he who has nothing to
ask shall hand over the examination to another. And on so much of what has been said
as is to the purpose all the judges shall set their seals, and place the writings on the altar
of Hestia. On the next day they shall meet again, and in like manner put their questions
and go through the cause, and again set their seals upon the evidence; and when they
have three times done this, and have had witnesses and evidence enough, they shall
each of them give a holy vote, after promising by Hestia that they will decide justly and
truly to the utmost of their power; and so they shall put an end to the suit.
Next, after what relates to the Gods, follows what relates to the dissolution of the
state:—Whoever by promoting a man to power enslaves the laws, and subjects the city to
factions, using violence and stirring up sedition contrary to law, him we will deem the
greatest enemy of the whole state. But he who takes no part in such proceedings, and,
being one of the chief magistrates of the state, has no knowledge of the treason, or,
having knowledge of it, by reason of cowardice does not interfere on behalf of his
country, such an one we must consider nearly as bad. Every man who is worth anything
will inform the magistrates, and bring the conspirator to trial for making a violent and
illegal attempt to change the government. The judges of such cases shall be the same as
of the robbers of temples; and let the whole proceeding be carried on in the same way,
and the vote of the majority condemn to death. But let there be a general rule, that the
disgrace and punishment of the father is not to be visited on the children, except in the
case of some one whose father, grandfather, and great–grandfather have successively
undergone the penalty of death. Such persons the city shall send away with all their
possessions to the city and country of their ancestors, retaining only and wholly their
appointed lot. And out of the citizens who have more than one son of not less than ten
years of age, they shall select ten whom their father or grandfather by the mother’s or
father’s side shall appoint, and let them send to Delphi the names of those who are
selected, and him whom the God chooses they shall establish as heir of the house which
has failed; and may he have better fortune than his predecessors!
Cleinias. Very good.
Athenian. Once more let there be a third general law respecting the judges who are to
give judgment, and the manner of conducting suits against those who are tried on an
accusation of treason; and as concerning the remaining or departure of their
descendants—there shall be one law for all three, for the traitor, and the robber of
temples, and the subverter by violence of the laws of the state. For a thief, whether he
steal much or little, let there be one law, and one punishment for all alike: in the first
place, let him pay double the amount of the theft if he be convicted, and if he have so
much over and above the allotment;—if he have not, he shall be bound until he pay the
penalty, or persuade him has obtained the sentence against him to forgive him. But if a
person be convicted of a theft against the state, then if he can persuade the city, or if he
will pay back twice the amount of the theft, he shall be set free from his bonds.
Cleinias. What makes you say, Stranger, that a theft is all one, whether the thief may
have taken much or little, and either from sacred or secular places—and these are not
the only differences in thefts:—seeing, then, that they are of many kinds, ought not the
legislator to adapt himself to them, and impose upon them entirely different penalties?
Athenian. Excellent. I was running on too fast, Cleinias, and you impinged upon me,
and brought me to my senses, reminding me of what, indeed, had occurred to mind
already, that legislation was never yet rightly worked out, as I may say in passing.—Do
you remember the image in which I likened the men for whom laws are now made to
slaves who are doctored by slaves? For of this you may be very sure, that if one of those
empirical physicians, who practise medicine without science, were to come upon the
gentleman physician talking to his gentleman patient, and using the language almost of
philosophy, beginning at the beginning of the disease and discoursing about the whole
nature of the body, he would burst into a hearty laugh—he would say what most of those
who are called doctors always have at their tongue’s end:—Foolish fellow, he would say,
you are not healing the sick man, but you are educating him; and he does not want to be
made a doctor, but to get well.
Cleinias. And would he not be right?
Athenian. Perhaps he would; and he might remark upon us that he who discourses
about laws, as we are now doing, is giving the citizens education and not laws; that
would be rather a telling observation.
Cleinias. Very true.
Athenian. But we are fortunate.
Cleinias. In what way?
Athenian. Inasmuch as we are not compelled to give laws, but we may take into
consideration every form of government, and ascertain what is best and what is most
needful, and how they may both be carried into execution; and we may also, if we please,
at this very moment choose what is best, or, if we prefer, what is most necessary—which
shall we do?
Cleinias. There is something ridiculous, Stranger, in our proposing such an alternative
as if we were legislators, simply bound under some great necessity which cannot be
deferred to the morrow. But we, as I may by grace of Heaven affirm, like, gatherers of
stones or beginners of some composite work, may gather a heap of materials, and out of
this, at our leisure, select what is suitable for our projected construction. Let us then
suppose ourselves to be at leisure, not of necessity building, but rather like men who are
partly providing materials, and partly putting them together. And we may truly say that
some of our laws, like stones, are already fixed in their places, and others lie at hand.
Athenian. Certainly, in that case, Cleinias, our view of law will be more in accordance
with nature. For there is another matter affecting legislators, which I must earnestly
entreat you to consider.
Cleinias. What is it?
Athenian. There are many writings to be found in cities, and among them there, are
composed by legislators as well as by other persons.
Cleinias. To be sure.
Athenian. Shall we give heed rather to the writings of those others—poets and the like,
who either in metre or out of metre have recorded their advice about the conduct of life,
and not to the writings of legislators? or shall we give heed to them above all?
Cleinias. Yes; to them far above all others.
Athenian. And ought the legislator alone among writers to withhold his opinion about
the beautiful, the good, and the just, and not to teach what they are, and how they are to
be pursued by those who intend to be happy?
Cleinias. Certainly not.
Athenian. And is it disgraceful for Homer and Tyrtaeus and other poets to lay down evil
precepts in their writings respecting life and the pursuits of men, but not so disgraceful
for Lycurgus and Solon and others who were legislators as well as writers? Is it not true
that of all the writings to be found in cities, those which relate to laws, when you unfold
and read them, ought to be by far the noblest and the best? and should not other
writings either agree with them, or if they disagree, be deemed ridiculous? We should
consider whether the laws of states ought not to have the character of loving and wise
parents, rather than of tyrants and masters, who command and threaten, and, after
writing their decrees on walls, go their ways; and whether, in discoursing of laws, we
should not take the gentler view of them which may or may not be attainable—at any
rate, we will show our readiness to entertain such a view, and be prepared to undergo
whatever may be the result. And may the result be good, and if God be gracious, it will
be good!
Cleinias. Excellent; let us do as you say.
Athenian. Then we will now consider accurately, as we proposed, what relates to robbers
of temples, and all kinds of thefts, and offences in general; and we must not be annoyed
if, in the course of legislation, we have enacted some things, and have not made up our
minds about some others; for as yet we are not legislators, but we may soon be. Let us, if
you please, consider these matters.
Cleinias. By all means.
Athenian. Concerning all things honourable and just, let us then endeavour to ascertain
how far we are consistent with ourselves, and how far we are inconsistent, and how far
the many, from whom at any rate we should profess a desire to differ, agree and disagree
among themselves.
Cleinias. What are the inconsistencies which you observe in us?
Athenian. I will endeavour to explain. If I am not mistaken, we are all agreed that
justice, and just men and things and actions, are all fair, and, if a person were to
maintain that just men, even when they are deformed in body, are still perfectly
beautiful in respect of the excellent justice of their minds, no one would say that there
was any inconsistency in this.
Cleinias. They would be quite right.
Athenian. Perhaps; but let us consider further, that if all things which are just are fair
and honourable, in the term “all” we must include just sufferings which are the
correlatives of just actions.
Cleinias. And what is the inference?
Athenian. The inference is, that a just action in partaking of the just partakes also in the
same degree of the fair and honourable.
Cleinias. Certainly.
Athenian. And must not a suffering which partakes of the just principle be admitted to
be in the same degree fair and honourable, if the argument is consistently carried out?
Cleinias. True.
Athenian. But then if we admit suffering to be just and yet dishonourable, and the term
“dishonourable” is applied to justice, will not the just and the honourable disagree?
Cleinias. What do you mean?
Athenian. A thing not difficult to understand; the laws which have been already enacted
would seem to announce principles directly opposed to what we are saying.
Cleinias. To what?
Athenian. We had enacted, if I am not mistaken, that the robber of temples, and he who
was the enemy of law and order, might justly be put to death, and we were proceeding to
make divers other enactments of a similar nature. But we stopped short, because we saw
that these sufferings are infinite in number and degree, and that they are, at once, the
most just and also the most dishonourable of all sufferings. And if this be true, are not
the just and the honourable at one time all the same, and at another time in the most
diametrical opposition?
Cleinias. Such appears to be the case.
Athenian. In this discordant and inconsistent fashion does the language of the many
rend asunder the honourable and just.
Cleinias. Very true, Stranger.
Athenian. Then now, Cleinias, let us see how far we ourselves are consistent about these
matters.
Cleinias. Consistent in what?
Athenian. I think that I have clearly stated in the former part of the discussion, but if I
did not, let me now state—
Cleinias. What?
Athenian. That all bad men are always involuntarily bad; and from this must proceed to
draw a further inference.
Cleinias. What is it?
Athenian. That the unjust man may be bad, but that he is bad against his will. Now that
an action which is voluntary should be done involuntarily is a contradiction; wherefore
he who maintains that injustice is involuntary will deem that the unjust does injustice
involuntarily. I too admit that all men do injustice involuntarily, and if any contentious
or disputatious person says that men are unjust against their will, and yet that many do
injustice willingly, I do not agree with him. But, then, how can I avoid being inconsistent
with myself, if you, Cleinias, and you, Megillus, say to me—Well, Stranger, if all this be
as you say, how about legislating for the city of the Magnetes—shall we legislate or not—
what do you advise? Certainly we will, I should reply. Then will you determine for them
what are voluntary and what are involuntary crimes, and shall we make the
punishments greater of voluntary errors and crimes and less for the involuntary? or
shall we make the punishment of all to be alike, under the idea that there is no such
thing as voluntary crime?
Cleinias. Very good, Stranger; and what shall we say in answer to these objections?
Athenian. That is a very fair question. In the first place, let us—
Cleinias. Do what?
Athenian. Let us remember what has been well said by us already, that our ideas of
justice are in the highest degree confused and contradictory. Bearing this in mind, let us
proceed to ask ourselves once more whether we have discovered a way out of the
difficulty. Have we ever determined in what respect these two classes of actions differ
from one another? For in all states and by all legislators whatsoever, two kinds of
actions have been distinguished—the one, voluntary, the other, involuntary; and they
have legislated about them accordingly. But shall this new word of ours, like an oracle of
God, be only spoken, and get away without giving any explanation or verification of
itself? How can a word not understood be the basis of legislation? Impossible. Before
proceeding to legislate, then, we must prove that they are two, and what is the difference
between them, that when we impose the penalty upon either, every one may understand
our proposal, and be able in some way to judge whether the penalty is fitly or unfitly
inflicted.
Cleinias. I agree with you, Stranger; for one of two things is certain: either we must not
say that all unjust acts are involuntary, or we must show the meaning and truth of this
statement.
Athenian. Of these two alternatives, the one is quite intolerable—not to speak what I
believe to be the truth would be to me unlawful and unholy. But if acts of injustice
cannot be divided into voluntary and involuntary, I must endeavour to find some other
distinction between them.
Cleinias. Very true, Stranger; there cannot be two opinions among us upon that point.
Athenian. Reflect, then; there are hurts of various kinds done by the citizens to one
another in the intercourse of life, affording plentiful examples both of the voluntary and
involuntary.
Cleinias. Certainly.
Athenian. I would not have any one suppose that all these hurts are injuries, and that
these injuries are of two kinds—one, voluntary, and the other, involuntary; for the
involuntary hurts of all men are quite as many and as great as the voluntary? And please
to consider whether I am right or quite wrong in what I am going to say; for I deny,
Cleinias and Megillus, that he who harms another involuntarily does him an injury
involuntarily, nor should I legislate about such an act under the idea that I am
legislating for an involuntary injury. But I should rather say that such a hurt, whether
great or small, is not an injury at all; and, on the other hand, if I am right, when a
benefit is wrongly conferred, the author of the benefit may often be said to injure. For I
maintain, O my friends, that the mere giving or taking away of anything is not to be
described either as just or unjust; but the legislator has to consider whether mankind do
good or harm to one another out of a just principle and intention. On the distinction
between injustice and hurt he must fix his eye; and when there is hurt, he must, as far as
he can, make the hurt good by law, and save that which is ruined, and raise up that
which is fallen, and make that which is dead or wounded whole. And when
compensation has been given for injustice, the law must always seek to win over the
doers and sufferers of the several hurts from feelings of enmity to those of friendship.
Cleinias. Very good.
Athenian. Then as to unjust hurts (and gains also, supposing the injustice to bring gain),
of these we may heal as many as are capable of being healed, regarding them as diseases
of the soul; and the cure of injustice will take the following direction.
Cleinias. What direction?
Athenian. When any one commits any injustice, small or great, the law will admonish
and compel him either never at all to do the like again, or never voluntarily, or at any
rate in a far less degree; and he must in addition pay for the hurt. Whether the end is to
be attained by word or action, with pleasure or pain, by giving or taking away privileges,
by means of fines or gifts, or in whatsoever way the law shall proceed to make a man
hate injustice, and love or not hate the nature of the just—this is quite the noblest work
of law. But if the legislator sees any one who is incurable, for him he will appoint a law
and a penalty. He knows quite well that to such men themselves there is no profit in the
continuance of their lives, and that they would do a double good to the rest of mankind
if they would take their departure, inasmuch as they would be an example to other men
not to offend, and they would relieve the city of bad citizens. In such cases, and in such
cases only, the legislator ought to inflict death as the punishment of offences.
Cleinias. What you have said appears to me to be very reasonable, but will you favour
me by stating a little more clearly the difference between hurt and injustice, and the
various complications of the voluntary and involuntary which enter into them?
Athenian. I will endeavour to do as you wish:—Concerning the soul, thus much would be
generally said and allowed, that one element in her nature is passion, which may be
described either as a state or a part of her, and is hard to be striven against and
contended with, and by irrational force overturns many things.
Cleinias. Very true.
Athenian. And pleasure is not the same with passion, but has an opposite power,
working her will by persuasion and by the force of deceit in all things.
Cleinias. Quite true.
Athenian. A man may truly say that ignorance is a third cause of crimes. Ignorance,
however, may be conveniently divided by the legislator into two sorts: there is simple
ignorance, which is the source of lighter offences, and double ignorance, which is
accompanied by a conceit of wisdom; and he who is under the influence of the latter
fancies that he knows all about matters of which he knows nothing. This second kind of
ignorance, when possessed of power and strength, will be held by the legislator to be the
source of great and monstrous times, but when attended with weakness, will only result
in the errors of children and old men; and these he will treat as errors, and will make
laws accordingly for those who commit them, which will be the mildest and most
merciful of all laws.
Cleinias. You are perfectly right.
Athenian. We all of us remark of one man that he is superior to pleasure and passion,
and of another that he is inferior to them; and this is true.
Cleinias. Certainly.
Athenian. But no one was ever yet heard to say that one of us is superior and another
inferior to ignorance.
Cleinias. Very true.
Athenian. We are speaking of motives which incite men to the fulfilment of their will;
although an individual may be often drawn by them in opposite directions at the same
time.
Cleinias. Yes, often.
Athenian. And now I can define to you clearly, and without ambiguity, what I mean by
the just and unjust, according to my notion of them:—When anger and fear, and
pleasure and pain, and jealousies and desires, tyrannize over the soul, whether they do
any harm or not—I call all this injustice. But when the opinion of the best, in whatever
part of human nature states or individuals may suppose that to dwell, has dominion in
the soul and orders the life of every man, even if it be sometimes mistaken, yet what is
done in accordance therewith, the principle in individuals which obeys this rule, and is
best for the whole life of man, is to be called just; although the hurt done by mistake is
thought by many to be involuntary injustice. Leaving the question of names, about
which we are not going to quarrel, and having already delineated three sources of error,
we may begin by recalling them somewhat more vividly to our memory:—One of them
was of the painful sort, which we denominate anger and fear.
Cleinias. Quite right.
Athenian. There was a second consisting of pleasures and desires, and a third of hopes,
which aimed at true opinion about the best. The latter being subdivided into three, we
now get five sources of actions; and for these five we will make laws of two kinds.
Cleinias. What are the two kinds?
Athenian. There is one kind of actions done by violence and in the light of day, and
another kind of actions which are done in darkness and with secret deceit, or sometimes
both with violence and deceit; the laws concerning these last ought to have a character
of severity.
Cleinias. Naturally.
Athenian. And now let us return from this digression and complete the work of
legislation. Laws have been already enacted by us concerning the robbers of the Gods,
and concerning traitors, and also concerning those who corrupt the laws for the purpose
of subverting the government. A man may very likely commit some of these crimes,
either in a state of madness or when affected by disease, or under the influence of
extreme old age, or in a fit of childish wantonness, himself no better than a child. And if
this be made evident to the judges elected to try the cause, on the appeal of the criminal
or his advocate, and he be judged to have been in this state when he committed the
offence, he shall simply pay for the hurt which he may have done to another; but he shall
be exempt from other penalties, unless he have slain some one, and have on his hands
the stain of blood. And in that case he shall go to another land and country, and there
dwell for a year; and if he return before the expiration of the time which the law
appoints, or even set his foot at all on his native land, he shall be bound by the guardians
of the law in the public prison for two years, and then go free.
Having begun to speak of homicide, let us endeavour to lay down laws concerning every
different kind of homicides, and, first of all, concerning violent and involuntary
homicides. If any one in an athletic contest, and at the public games, involuntarily kills a
friend, and he dies either at the time or afterwards of the blows which he has received;
or if the like misfortune happens to any one in war, or military exercises, or mimic
contests. of which the magistrates enjoin the practice, whether with or without arms,
when he has been purified according to the law brought from Delphi relating to these
matters, he shall be innocent. And so in the case of physicians: if their patient dies
against their will, they shall be held guiltless by the law. And if one slay another with his
own hand, but unintentionally, whether he be unarmed or have some instrument or dart
in his hand; or if he kill him by administering food or drink or by the application of fire
or cold, or by suffocating him, whether he do the deed by his own hand, or by the agency
of others, he shall be deemed the agent, and shall suffer one of the following penalties:—
If he kill the slave of another in the belief that he is his own, he shall bear the master of
the dead man harmless from loss, or shall pay a penalty of twice the value of the dead
man, which the judges shall assess; but purifications must be used greater and more
numerous than for those who committed homicide at the games;—what they are to be,
the interpreters whom the God appoints shall be authorized to declare. And if a man
kills his own slave, when he has been purified according to laws he shall be quit of the
homicide. And if a man kills a freeman unintentionally, he shall undergo the same
purification as he did who killed the slave. But let him not forget also a tale of olden
time, which is to this effect:—He who has suffered a violent end, when newly dead, if he
has had the soul of a freeman in life, is angry with the author of his death; and being
himself full of fear and panic by reason of his violent end, when he sees his murderer
walking about in his own accustomed haunts, he is stricken with terror and becomes
disordered, and this disorder of his, aided by the guilty recollection of is communicated
by him with overwhelming force to the murderer and his deeds. Wherefore also the
murderer must go out of the way of his victim for the entire period of a year, and not
himself be found in any spot which was familiar to him throughout the country. And if
the dead man be a stranger, the homicide shall be kept from the country of the stranger
during a like period. If any one voluntarily obeys this law, the next of kin to the
deceased, seeing all that has happened, shall take pity on him, and make peace with
him, and show him all gentleness. But if any one is disobedient, either ventures to go to
any of the temples and sacrifice unpurified, or will not continue in exile during the
appointed time, the next of kin to the deceased shall proceed against him for murder;
and if he be convicted, every part of his punishment shall be doubled.
And if the next of kin do not proceed against the perpetrator of the crime, then the
pollution shall be deemed to fall upon his own head;—the murdered man will fix the
guilt upon his kinsman, and he who has a mind to proceed against him may compel him
to be absent from his country during five years, according to law. If a stranger
unintentionally kill a stranger who is dwelling in the city, he who likes shall prosecute
the cause according to the same rules. If he be a metic, let him be absent for a year, or if
he be an entire stranger, in addition to the purification, whether he have slain a
stranger, or a metic, or a citizen, he shall be banished for life from the country which is
in possession of our laws. And if he return contrary to law, let the guardians of the law
punish him with death; and let them hand over his property, if he have any, to him who
is next of kin to the sufferer. And if he be wrecked, and driven on the coast against his
will, he shall take up his abode on the seashore, wetting his feet in the sea, and watching
for an opportunity of sailing; but if he be brought by land, and is not his own master, let
the magistrate whom he first comes across in the city, release him and send him
unharmed over the border.
If any one slays a freeman with his own hand and the deed be done in passion, in the
case of such actions we must begin by making a distinction. For a deed is done from
passion either when men suddenly, and without intention to kill, cause the death of
another by blows and the like on a momentary impulse, and are sorry for the deed
immediately afterwards; or again, when after having been insulted in deed or word, men
pursue revenge, and kill a person intentionally, and are not sorry for the act. And,
therefore, we must assume that these homicides are of two kinds, both of them arising
from passion, which may be justly said to be in a mean between the voluntary and
involuntary; at the same time, they are neither of them anything more than a likeness or
shadow of either. He who treasures up his anger, and avenges himself, not immediately
and at the moment, but with insidious design, and after an interval, is like the voluntary;
but he who does not treasure up his anger, and takes vengeance on the instant, and
without malice prepense, approaches to the involuntary; and yet even he is not
altogether involuntary, but only the image or shadow of the involuntary; wherefore
about homicides committed in hot blood, there is a difficulty in determining whether in
legislating we shall reckon them as voluntary or as partly involuntary. The best and
truest view is to regard them respectively as likenesses only of the voluntary and
involuntary, and to distinguish them accordingly as they are done with or without
premeditation. And we should make the penalties heavier for those who commit
homicide with angry premeditation, and lighter for those who do not premeditate, but
smite upon the instant; for that which is like a greater evil should be punished more
severely, and that which is like a less evil should be punished less severely: this shall be
the rule of our laws.
Cleinias. Certainly.
Athenian. Let us proceed:—If any one slays a free man with his own hand, and the deed
be done in a moment of anger, and without premeditation, let the offender suffer in
other respects as the involuntary homicide would have suffered, and also undergo an
exile of two years, that he may learn to school his passions. But he who slays another
from passion, yet with premeditation, shall in other respects suffer as the former; and to
this shall be added an exile of three instead of two years—his punishment is to be longer
because his passion is greater. The manner of their return shall be on this wise: (and
here the law has difficulty in determining exactly; for in some cases the murderer who is
judged by the law to be the worse may really be the less cruel, and he who is judged the
less cruel may be really the worse, and may have executed the murder in a more savage
manner, whereas the other may have been gentler. But in general the degrees of guilt
will be such as we have described them. Of all these things the guardians of the law must
take cognisance):—When a homicide of either kind has completed his term of exile, the
guardians shall send twelve judges to the borders of the land; these during the interval
shall have informed themselves of the actions of the criminals, and they shall judge
respecting their pardon and reception; and the homicides shall abide by their judgment.
But if after they have returned home, any one of them in a moment of anger repeats the
deed, let him be an exile, and return no more; or if he returns, let him suffer as the
stranger was to suffer in a similar case. He who kills his own slave shall undergo a
purification, but if he kills the slave of another in anger, he shall pay twice the amount of
the loss to his owner. And if any homicide is disobedient to the law, and without
purification pollutes the agora, or the games, or the temples, he who pleases may bring
to trial the next of kin to the dead man for permitting him, and the murderer with him,
and may compel the one to exact and the other to suffer a double amount of fines and
purifications; and the accuser shall himself receive the fine in accordance with the law.
If a slave in a fit of passion kills his master, the kindred of the deceased man may do
with the murderer (provided only they do not spare his life) whatever they please, and
they will be pure; or if he kills a freeman, who is not his master, the owner shall give up
the slave to the relatives of the deceased, and they shall be under an obligation to put
him to death, but this may be done in any manner which they please.
And if (which is a rare occurrence, but does sometimes happen) a father or a mother in a
moment of passion slays a son or daughter by blows, or some other violence, the slayer
shall undergo the same purification as in other cases, and be exiled during three years;
but when the exile returns the wife shall separate from the husband, and the husband
from the wife, and they shall never afterwards beget children together, or live under the
same roof, or partake of the same sacred rites with those whom they have deprived of a
child or of a brother. And he who is impious and disobedient in such a case shall be
brought to trial for impiety by any one who pleases. If in a fit of anger a husband kills his
wedded wife, or the wife her husband, the slayer shall undergo the same purification,
and the term of exile shall be three years. And when he who has committed any such
crime returns, let him have no communication in sacred rites with his children, neither
let him sit at the same table with them, and the father or son who disobeys shall be liable
to be brought to trial for impiety by any one who pleases. If a brother or a sister in a fit
of passion kills a brother or a sister, they shall undergo purification and exile, as was the
case with parents who killed their offspring: they shall not come under the same roof, or
share in the sacred rites of those whom they have deprived of their brethren, or of their
children.
And he who is disobedient shall be justly liable to the law concerning impiety, which
relates to these matters. If any one is so violent in his passion against his parents, that in
the madness of his anger he dares to kill one of them, if the murdered person before
dying freely forgives the murderer, let him undergo the purification which is assigned to
those who have been guilty of involuntary homicide, and do as they do, and he shall be
pure. But if he be not acquitted, the perpetrator of such a deed shall be amenable to
many laws;—he shall be amenable to the extreme punishments for assault, and impiety,
and robbing of temples, for he has robbed his parent of life; and if a man could be slain
more than once, most justly would he who in a fit of passion has slain father or mother,
undergo many deaths. How can he, whom, alone of all men, even in defence of his life,
and when about to suffer death at the hands of his parents, no law will allow to kill his
father or his mother who are the authors of his being, and whom the legislator will
command to endure any extremity rather than do this—how can he, I say, lawfully
receive any other punishment? Let death then be the appointed punishment of him who
in a fit of passion slays his father or his mother. But if brother kills brother in a civil
broil, or under other like circumstances, if the other has begun, and he only defends
himself, let him be free from guilt, as he would be if he had slain an enemy; and the
same rule will apply if a citizen kill a citizen, or a stranger a stranger. Or if a stranger kill
a citizen or a citizen a stranger in self–defence, let him be free from guilt in like manner;
and so in the case of a slave who has killed a slave; but if a slave have killed a freeman in
self–defence, let him be subject to the same law as he who has killed a father; and let the
law about the remission of penalties in the case of parricide apply equally to every other
remission. Whenever any sufferer of his own accord remits the guilt of homicide to
another, under the idea that his act was involuntary, let the perpetrator of the deed
undergo a purification and remain in exile for a year, according to law.
Enough has been said of murders violent and involuntary and committed in passion: we
have now to speak of voluntary crimes done with injustice of every kind and with
premeditation, through the influence of pleasures, and desires, and jealousies.
Cleinias. Very good.
Athenian. Let us first speak, as far as we are able, of their various kinds. The greatest
cause of them is lust, which gets the mastery of the soul maddened by desire; and this is
most commonly found to exist where the passion reigns which is strongest and most
prevalent among mass of mankind: I mean where the power of wealth breeds endless
desires of never–to–be–satisfied acquisition, originating in natural disposition, and a
miserable want of education. Of this want of education, the false praise of wealth which
is bruited about both among Hellenes and barbarians is the cause; they deem that to be
the first of goods which in reality is only the third. And in this way they wrong both
posterity and themselves, for nothing can be nobler and better than that the truth about
wealth should be spoken in all states—namely, that riches are for the sake of the body, as
the body is for the sake of the soul. They are good, and wealth is intended by nature to
be for the sake of them, and is therefore inferior to them both, and third in order of
excellence. This argument teaches us that he who would be happy ought not to seek to
be rich, or rather he should seek to be rich justly and temperately, and then there would
be no murders in states requiring to be purged away by other murders. But now, as I
said at first, avarice is the chiefest cause and source of the worst trials for voluntary
homicide. A second cause is ambition: this creates jealousies, which are troublesome
companions, above all to the jealous man himself, and in a less degree to the chiefs of
the state. And a third cause is cowardly and unjust fear, which has been the occasion of
many murders. When a man is doing or has done something which he desires that no
one should know him to be doing or to have done, he will take the life of those who are
likely to inform of such things, if he have no other means of getting rid of them. Let this
be said as a prelude concerning crimes of violence in general; and I must not omit to
mention a tradition which is firmly believed by many, and has been received by them
from those who are learned in the mysteries: they say that such deeds will be punished
in the world below, and also that when the perpetrators return to this world they will
pay the natural penalty which is due to the sufferer, and end their lives in like manner by
the hand of another. If he who is about to commit murder believes this, and is made by
the mere prelude to dread such a penalty, there is no need to proceed with the
proclamation of the law. But if he will not listen, let the following law be declared and
registered against him:
Whoever shall wrongfully and of design slay with his own hand any of his kinsmen, shall
in the first place be deprived of legal privileges; and he shall not pollute the temples, or
the agora, or the harbours, or any other place of meeting, whether he is forbidden of
men or not; for the law, which represents the whole state, forbids him, and always is and
will be in the attitude of forbidding him. And if a cousin or nearer relative of the
deceased, whether on the male or female side, does not prosecute the homicide when he
ought, and have him proclaimed an outlaw, he shall in the first place be involved in the
pollution, and incur the hatred of the Gods, even as the curse of the law stirs up the
voices of men against him; and in the second place he shall be liable to be prosecuted by
any one who is willing to inflict retribution on behalf of the dead. And he who would
avenge a murder shall observe all the precautionary ceremonies of lavation, and any
others which the God commands in cases of this kind. Let him have proclamation made,
and then go forth and compel the perpetrator to suffer the execution of justice according
to the law. Now the legislator may easily show that these things must be accomplished
by prayers and sacrifices to certain Gods, who are concerned with the prevention of
murders in states. But who these Gods are, and what should be the true manner of
instituting such trials with due regard to religion, the guardians of the law, aided by the
interpreters, and the prophets, and the God, shall determine, and when they have
determined let them carry on the prosecution at law. The cause shall have the same
judges who are appointed to decide in the case of those who plunder temples. Let him
who is convicted be punished with death, and let him not be buried in the country of the
murdered man, for this would be shameless as well as impious. But if he fly and will not
stand his trial, let him fly for ever; or, if he set foot anywhere on any part of the
murdered man’s country, let any relation of the deceased, or any other citizen who may
first happen to meet with him, kill him with impunity, or bind and deliver him to those
among the judges of the case who are magistrates, that they may put him to death. And
let the prosecutor demand surety of him whom he prosecutes; three sureties sufficient in
the opinion of the magistrates who try the cause shall be provided by him, and they shall
undertake to produce him at the trial. But if he be unwilling or unable to provide
sureties, then the magistrates shall take him and keep him in bonds, and produce him at
the day of trial.
If a man do not commit a murder with his own hand, but contrives the death of another,
and is the author of the deed in intention and design, and he continues to dwell in the
city, having his soul not pure of the guilt of murder, let him be tried in the same way,
except in what relates to the sureties; and also, if he be found guilty, his body after
execution may have burial in his native land, but in all other respects his case shall be as
the former; and whether a stranger shall kill a citizen, or a citizen a stranger, or a slave a
slave, there shall be no difference as touching murder by one’s own hand or by
contrivance, except in the matter of sureties; and these, as has been said, shall be
required of the actual murderer only, and he who brings the accusation shall bind them
over at the time. If a slave be convicted of slaying a freeman voluntarily, either by his
own hand or by contrivance, let the public executioner take him in the direction of the
sepulchre, to a place whence he can see the tomb of the dead man, and inflict upon him
as many stripes as the person who caught him orders, and if he survive, let him put him
to death. And if any one kills a slave who has done no wrong, because he is afraid that he
may inform of some base and evil deeds of his own, or for any similar reason, in such a
case let him pay the penalty of murder, as he would have done if he had slain a citizen.
There are things about which it is terrible and unpleasant to legislate, but impossible not
to legislate. If, for example, there should be murders of kinsmen, either perpetrated by
the hands of kinsmen, or by their contrivance, voluntary and purely malicious, which
most often happen in ill–regulated and ill–educated states, and may perhaps occur even
in a country where a man would not expect to find them, we must repeat once more the
tale which we narrated a little while ago, in the hope that he who hears us will be the
more disposed to abstain voluntarily on these grounds from murders which are utterly
abominable. For the myth, or saying, or whatever we ought to call it, has been plainly set
forth by priests of old; they have pronounced that the justice which guards and avenges
the blood of kindred, follows the law of retaliation, and ordains that he who has done
any murderous act should of necessity suffer that which he has done. He who has slain a
father shall himself be slain at some time or other by his children—if a mother, he shall
of necessity take a woman’s nature, and lose his life at the hands of his offspring in after
ages; for where the blood of a family has been polluted there is no other purification, nor
can the pollution be washed out until the homicidal soul which the deed has given life
for life, and has propitiated and laid to sleep the wrath of the whole family. These are the
retributions of Heaven, and by such punishments men should be deterred. But if they
are not deterred, and any one should be incited by some fatality to deprive his father or
mother, or brethren, or children, of life voluntarily and of purpose, for him the earthly
lawgiver legislates as follows:—There shall be the same proclamations about outlawry,
and there shall be the same sureties which have been enacted in the former cases. But in
his case, if he be convicted, the servants of the judges and the magistrates shall slay him
at an appointed place without the city where three ways meet, and there expose his body
naked, and each of the magistrates on behalf of the whole city shall take a stone and cast
it upon the head of the dead man, and so deliver the city from pollution; after that, they
shall bear him to the borders of the land, and cast him forth unburied, according to law.
And what shall he suffer who slays him who of all men, as they say, is his own best
friend? I mean the suicide, who deprives himself by violence of his appointed share of
life, not because the law of the state requires him, nor yet under the compulsion of some
painful and inevitable misfortune which has come upon him, nor because he has had to
suffer from irremediable and intolerable shame, but who from sloth or want of
manliness imposes upon himself an unjust penalty. For him, what ceremonies there are
to be of purification and burial God knows, and about these the next of kin should
enquire of the interpreters and of the laws thereto relating, and do according to their
injunctions. They who meet their death in this way shall be buried alone, and none shall
be laid by their side; they shall be buried ingloriously in the borders of the twelve
portions the land, in such places as are uncultivated and nameless, and no column or
inscription shall mark the place of their interment. And if a beast of burden or other
animal cause the death of any one, except in the case of anything of that kind happening
to a competitor in the public contests, the kinsmen of the deceased shall prosecute the
slayer for murder, and the wardens of the country, such, and so many as the kinsmen
appoint, shall try the cause, and let the beast when condemned be slain by them, and let
them cast it beyond the borders. And if any lifeless thing deprive a man of life, except in
the case of a thunderbolt or other fatal dart sent from the Gods—whether a man is killed
by lifeless objects, falling upon him, or by his falling upon them, the nearest of kin shall
appoint the nearest neighbour to be a judge, and thereby acquit himself and the whole
family of guilt. And he shall cast forth the guilty thing beyond the border, as has been
said about the animals.
If a man is found dead, and his murderer be unknown, and after a diligent search cannot
be detected, there shall be the same proclamation as in the previous cases, and the same
interdict on the murderer; and having proceeded against him, they shall proclaim in the
agora by a herald, that he who has slain such and such a person, and has been convicted
of murder, shall not set his foot in the temples, nor at all in the country of the murdered
man, and if he appears and is discovered, he shall die, and be cast forth unburied
beyond the border. Let this one law then be laid down by us about murder; and let cases
of this sort be so regarded.
And now let us say in what cases and under what circumstances the murderer is rightly
free from guilt:—If a man catch a thief coming, into his house by night to steal, and he
take and kill him, or if he slay a footpad in self–defence, he shall be guiltless. And any
one who does violence to a free woman or a youth, shall be slain with impunity by the
injured person, or by his or her father or brothers or sons. If a man find his wife
suffering violence, he may kill the violator, and be guiltless in the eye of the law; or if a
person kill another in warding off death from his father or mother or children or
brethren or wife who are doing no wrong, he shall assuredly be guiltless.
Thus much as to the nurture and education of the living soul of man, having which, he
can, and without which, if he unfortunately be without them, he cannot live; and also
concerning the punishments:—which are to be inflicted for violent deaths, let thus much
be enacted. Of the nurture and education of the body we have spoken before, and next in
order we have to speak of deeds of violence, voluntary and involuntary, which men do to
one another; these we will now distinguish, as far as we are able, according to their
nature and number, and determine what will be the suitable penalties of each, and so
assign to them their proper place in the series of our enactments. The poorest legislator
will have no difficulty in determining that wounds and mutilations arising out of
wounds should follow next in order after deaths. Let wounds be divided as homicides
were divided—into those which are involuntary, and which are given in passion or from
fear, and those inflicted voluntarily and with premeditation. Concerning all this, we
must make some such proclamation as the following:—Mankind must have laws, and
conform to them, or their life would be as bad as that of the most savage beast. And the
reason of this is that no man’s nature is able to know what is best for human society; or
knowing, always able and willing to do what is best. In the first place, there is a difficulty
in apprehending that the true art or politics is concerned, not with private but with
public good (for public good binds together states, but private only distracts them); and
that both the public and private good as well of individuals as of states is greater when
the state and not the individual is first considered. In the second place, although a
person knows in the abstract that this is true, yet if he be possessed of absolute and
irresponsible power, he will never remain firm in his principles or persist in regarding
the public good as primary in the state, and the private good as secondary. Human
nature will be always drawing him into avarice and selfishness, avoiding pain and
pursuing Pleasure without any reason, and will bring these to the front, obscuring the
juster and better; and so working darkness in his soul will at last fill with evils both him
and the whole city. For if a man were born so divinely gifted that he could naturally
apprehend the truth, he would have no need of laws to rule over him; for there is no law
or order which is above knowledge, nor can mind, without impiety, be deemed the
subject or slave of any man, but rather the lord of all. I speak of mind, true and free, and
in harmony with nature. But then there is no such mind anywhere, or at least not much;
and therefore we must choose law and order, which are second best. These look at
things as they exist for the most part only, and are unable to survey the whole of them.
And therefore I have spoken as I have.
And now we will determine what penalty he ought to pay or suffer who has hurt or
wounded another. Any one may easily imagine the questions which have to be asked in
all such cases:—What did he wound, or whom, or how, or when? for there are
innumerable particulars of this sort which greatly vary from one another. And to allow
courts of law to determine all these things, or not to determine any of them, is alike
impossible. There is one particular which they must determine in all cases—the question
of fact. And then, again, that the legislator should not permit them to determine what
punishment is to be inflicted in any of these cases, but should himself decide about, of
them, small or great, is next to impossible.
Cleinias. Then what is to be the inference?
Athenian. The inference is, that some things should be left to courts of law; others the
legislator must decide for himself.
Cleinias. And what ought the legislator to decide, and what ought he to leave to courts of
law?
Athenian. I may reply, that in a state in which the courts are bad and mute, because the
judges conceal their opinions and decide causes clandestinely; or what is worse, when
they are disorderly and noisy, as in a theatre, clapping or hooting in turn this or that
orator—I say that then there is a very serious evil, which affects the whole state.
Unfortunate is the necessity of having to legislate for such courts, but where the
necessity exists, the legislator should only allow them to ordain the penalties for the
smallest offences; if the state for which he is legislating be of this character, he must take
most matters into his own hands and speak distinctly. But when a state has good courts,
and the judges are well trained and scrupulously tested, the determination of the
penalties or punishments which shall be inflicted on the guilty may fairly and with
advantage be left to them. And we are not to be blamed for not legislating concerning all
that large class of matters which judges far worse educated than ours would be able to
determine, assigning to each offence what is due both to the perpetrator and to the
sufferer. We believe those for whom we are legislating to be best able to judge, and
therefore to them the greater part may be left. At the same time, as I have often said, we
should exhibit to the judges, as we have done, the outline and form of the punishments
to be inflicted, and then they will not transgress the just rule. That was an excellent
practice, which we observed before, and which now that we are resuming the work of
legislation, may with advantage be repeated by us.
Let the enactment about wounding be in the following terms:—If anyone has a purpose
and intention to slay another who is not his enemy, and whom the law does not permit
him to slay, and he wounds him, but is unable to kill him, he who had the intent and has
wounded him is not to be pitied—he deserves no consideration, but should be regarded
as a murderer and be tried for murder. Still having respect to the fortune which has in a
manner favoured him, and to the providence which in pity to him and to the wounded
man saved the one from a fatal blow, and the other from an accursed fate and calamity—
as a thank–offering to this deity, and in order not to oppose his will—in such a case the
law will remit the punishment of death, and only compel the offender to emigrate to a
neighbouring city for the rest of his life, where he shall remain in the enjoyment of all
his possessions. But if he have injured the wounded man, he shall make such
compensation for the injury as the court deciding the cause shall assess, and the same
judges shall decide who would have decided if the man had died of his wounds. And if a
child intentionally wound his parents, or a servant his master, death shall be the
penalty. And if a brother ora sister intentionally wound a brother or a sister, and is
found guilty, death shall be the penalty. And if a husband wound a wife, or a wife a
husband, with intent to kill, let him or her undergo perpetual exile; if they have sons or
daughters who are still young, the guardians shall take care of their property, and have
charge of the children as orphans. If their sons are grown up, they shall be under no
obligation to support the exiled parent, but they shall possess the property themselves.
And if he who meets with such a misfortune has no children, the kindred of the exiled
man to the degree of sons of cousins, both on the male and female side, shall meet
together, and after taking counsel with the guardians of the and the priests, shall
appoint a 5040th citizen to be the heir of the house, considering and reasoning that no
house of all the 5040 belongs to the inhabitant or to the whole family, but is the public
and private property of the state. Now the state should seek to have its houses as holy
and happy as possible. And if any one of the houses be unfortunate, and stained with
impiety, and the owner leave no posterity, but dies unmarried, or married and childless,
having suffered death as the penalty of murder or some other crime committed against
the Gods or against his fellow–citizens, of which death is the penalty distinctly laid
down in the law; or if any of the citizens be in perpetual exile, and also childless, that
house shall first of all be purified and undergo expiation according to law; and then let
the kinsmen of the house, as we were just now saying, and the guardians of the law,
meet and consider what family there is in the state which is of the highest repute for
virtue and also for good fortune, in which there are a number of sons; from that family
let them take one and introduce him to the father and forefathers of the dead man as
their son, and, for the sake of the omen, let him be called so, that he may be the
continuer of their family, the keeper of their hearth, and the minister of their sacred
rites with better fortune than his father had; and when they have made this supplication,
they shall make him heir according to law, and the offending person they shall leave
nameless and childless and portionless when calamities such as these overtake him.
Now the boundaries of some things do not touch one another, but there is a borderland
which comes in between, preventing them from touching. And we were saying that
actions done from passion are of this nature, and come in between the voluntary and
involuntary. If a person be convicted of having inflicted wounds in a passion, in the first
place he shall pay twice the amount of the injury, if the wound be curable, or, if
incurable, four times the amount of the injury; or if the wound be curable, and at the
same time cause great and notable disgrace to the wounded person, he shall pay
fourfold. And whenever any one in wounding another injures not only the sufferer, but
also the city, and makes him incapable of defending his country against the enemy, he,
besides the other penalties, shall pay a penalty for the loss which the state has incurred.
And the penalty shall be, that in addition to his own times of service, he shall serve on
behalf of the disabled person, and shall take his place in war; or, if he refuse, he shall be
liable to be convicted by law of refusal to serve. The compensation for the injury,
whether to be twofold or threefold or fourfold, shall be fixed by the judges who convict
him. And if, in like manner, a brother wounds a brother, the parents and kindred of
either sex, including the children of cousins, whether on the male or female side, shall
meet, and when they have judged the cause, they shall entrust the assessment of
damages to the parents, as is natural; and if the estimate be disputed, then the kinsmen
on the male side shall make the estimate, or if they cannot, they shall commit the matter
to the guardians of the law. And when similar charges of wounding are brought by
children against their parents, those who are more than sixty years of age, having
children of their own, not adopted, shall be required to decide; and if any one is
convicted, they shall determine whether he or she ought to die, or suffer some other
punishment either greater than death, or, at any rate, not much less. A kinsman of the
offender shall not be allowed to judge the cause, not even if he be of the age which is
prescribed by the law. If a slave in a fit of anger wound a freeman, the owner of the slave
shall give him up to the wounded man, who may do as he pleases with him, and if be not
give him up he shall himself make good the injury. And if any one says that the slave and
the wounded man are conspiring together, let him argue the point, and if he is cast, he
shall pay for the wrong three times over, but if he gains his case, the freeman who
conspired with the slave shall reliable to an action for kidnapping. And if any one
unintentionally wounds another he shall simply pay for the harm, for no legislator is
able to control chance. In such a case the judges shall be the same as those who are
appointed in the case of children suing their parents; and they shall estimate the amount
of the injury.
All the preceding injuries and every kind of assault are deeds of violence; and every
man, woman, or child ought to consider that the elder has the precedence of the younger
in honour, both among the Gods and also among men who would live in security and
happiness. Wherefore it is a foul thing and hateful to the Gods to see an elder man
assaulted by a younger in the city; and it is reasonable that a young man when struck by
an elder should lightly endure his anger, laying up in store for himself a like honour
when he is old. Let this be the law:—Every one shall reverence his elder in word and
deed; he shall respect any one who is twenty years older than himself, whether male or
female, regarding him or her as his father or mother; and he shall abstain from laying
hands on any one who is of an age to have been his father or his mother, out of
reverence to the Gods who preside over birth; similarly he shall keep his hands from a
stranger, whether he be an old inhabitant or newly arrived; he shall not venture to
correct such an one by blows, either as the aggressor or in self–defence. If he thinks that
some stranger has struck him out of wantonness or insolence, and ought to be punished,
he shall take him to the wardens of the city, but let him not strike him, that the stranger
may be kept far away from the possibility of lifting up his hand against a citizen, and let
the wardens of the city take the offender and examine him, not forgetting their duty to
the God of Strangers, and in case the stranger appears to have struck the citizen
unjustly, let them inflict upon him as many blows with the scourge as he has himself
inflicted, and quell his presumption. But if he be innocent, they shall threaten and
rebuke the man who arrested him, and let them both go. If a person strikes another of
the same age or somewhat older than himself, who has no children, whether he be an
old man who strikes an old man or a young man who strikes a young man, let the person
struck defend himself in the natural way without a weapon and with his hands only. He
who, being more than forty years of age, dares to fight with another, whether he be the
aggressor or in self defence, shall be regarded as rude and ill–mannered and slavish;—
this will be a disgraceful punishment, and therefore suitable to him. The obedient nature
will readily yield to such exhortations, but the disobedient, who heeds not the prelude,
shall have the law ready for him:—If any man smite another who is older than himself,
either by twenty or by more years, in the first place, he who is at hand, not being
younger than the combatants, nor their equal in age, shall separate them, or be
disgraced according to law; but if he be the equal in age of the person who is struck or
younger, he shall defend the person injured as he would a brother or father or still older
relative. Further, let him who dares to smite an elder be tried for assault, as I have said,
and if he be found guilty, let him be imprisoned for a period of not less than a year, or if
the judges approve of a longer period, their decision shall be final. But if a stranger or
metic smite one who is older by twenty years or more, the same law shall hold about the
bystanders assisting, and he who is found guilty in such a suit, if he be a stranger but not
resident, shall be imprisoned during a period of two years; and a metic who disobeys the
laws shall be imprisoned for three years, unless the court assign him a longer term. And
let him who was present in any of these cases and did not assist according to law be
punished, if he be of the highest dass, by paying a fine of a mina; or if he be of the
second class, of fifty drachmas; or if of the third class, by a fine of thirty drachmas; or if
he be of the fourth class, by a fine of twenty drachmas; and the generals and taxiarchs
and phylarchs and hipparchs shall form the court in such cases.
Laws are partly framed for the sake of good men, in order to instruct them how they
thay live on friendly terms with one another, and partly for the sake of those who refuse
to be instructed, whose spirit cannot be subdued, or softened, or hindered from
plunging into evil. These are the persons who cause the word to be spoken which I am
about to utter; for them the legislator legislates of necessity, and in the hope that there
may be no need of his laws. He who shall dare to lay violent hands upon his father or
mother, or any still older relative, having no fear either of the wrath of the Gods above,
or of the punishments that are spoken of in the world below, but transgresses in
contempt of ancient and universal traditions as though he were too wise to believe in
them, requires some extreme measure of prevention. Now death is not the worst that
can happen to men; far worse are the punishments which are said to pursue them in the
world below. But although they are most true tales, they work on such souls no
prevention; for if they had any effect there would be no slayers of mothers, or impious
hands lifted up against parents; and therefore the punishments of this world which are
inflicted during life ought not in such cases to fall short, if possible, of the terrors of the
world below. Let our enactment then be as follows:—If a man dare to strike his father or
his mother, or their fathers or mothers, he being at the time of sound mind, then let any
one who is at hand come to the rescue as has been already said, and the metic or
stranger who comes to the rescue shall be called to the first place in the games; but if he
do not come he shall suffer the punishment of perpetual exile. He who is not a metic, if
he comes to the rescue, shall have praise, and if he do not come, blame. And if a slave
come to the rescue, let him be made free, but if he do not come the rescue, let him
receive 100 strokes of the whip, by order of the wardens of the agora, if the occurrence
take place in the agora; or if somewhere in the city beyond the limits of the agora, any
warden of the city is in residence shall punish him; or if in the country, then the
commanders of the wardens of the country. If those who are near at the time be
inhabitants of the same place, whether they be youths, or men, or women, let them come
to the rescue and denounce him as the impious one; and he who does not come to the
rescue shall fall under the curse of Zeus, the God of kindred and of ancestors, according
to law. And if any one is found guilty of assaulting a parent, let him in the first place be
for ever banished from the city into the country, and let him abstain from the temples;
and if he do not abstain, the wardens of the country shall punish him with blows, or in
any way which they please, and if he return he shall be put to death. And if any freeman
eat or drink, or have any other sort of intercourse with him, or only meeting him have
voluntarily touched him, he shall not enter into any temple, nor into the agora, nor into
the city, until he is purified; for he should consider that he has become tainted by a
curse. And if he disobeys the law, and pollutes the city and the temples contrary to law,
and one of the magistrates sees him and does not indict him, when he gives in his
account this omission shall be a most serious charge.
If a slave strike a freeman, whether a stranger or a citizen, let any one who is present
come to the rescue, or pay the penalty already mentioned; and let the bystanders bind
him, and deliver him up to the injured person, and he receiving him shall put him in
chains, and inflict on him as many stripes as he pleases; but having punished him he
must surrender him to his master according to law, and not deprive him of his property.
Let the law be as follows:—The slave who strikes a freeman, not at the command of the
magistrates, his owner shall receive bound from the man whom he has stricken, and not
release him until the slave has persuaded the man whom he has stricken that he ought
to be released. And let there be the same laws about women in relation to women, about
men and women in relation to one another.
BOOK X
And now having spoken of assaults, let us sum up all acts of violence under a single law,
which shall be as follows:—No one shall take or carry away any of his neighbour’s goods,
neither shall he use anything which is his neighbour’s without the consent of the owner;
for these are the offences which are and have been, and will ever be, the source of all the
aforesaid evils. The greatest of them are excesses and insolences of youth, and are
offences against the greatest when they are done against religion; and especially great
when in violation of public and holy rites, or of the partly–common rites in which tribes
and phratries share; and in the second degree great when they are committed against
private rites and sepulchres, and in the third degree (not to repeat the acts formerly
mentioned), when insults are offered to parents; the fourth kind of violence is when any
one, regardless of the authority of the rulers, takes or carries away or makes use of
anything which belongs to them, not having their consent; and the fifth kind is when the
violation of the civil rights of an individual demands reparation. There should be a
common law embracing all these cases. For we have already said in general terms what
shall be the punishment of sacrilege, whether fraudulent or violent, and now we have to
determine what is to be the punishment of those who speak or act insolently toward the
Gods. But first we must give them an admonition which may be in the following terms:—
No one who in obedience to the laws believed that there were Gods, ever intentionally
did any unholy act, or uttered any unlawful word; but he who did must have supposed
one of three things—either that they did not exist,—which is the first possibility, or
secondly, that, if they did, they took no care of man, or thirdly, that they were easily
appeased and turned aside from their purpose, by sacrifices and prayers.
Cleinias. What shall we say or do to these persons?
Athenian Stranger. My good friend, let us first hear the jests which I suspect that they in
their superiority will utter against us.
Cleinias. What jests?
Athenian. They will make some irreverent speech of this sort:—”O inhabitants of
Athens, and Sparta, and Cnosus,” they will reply, “in that you speak truly; for some of us
deny the very existence of the Gods, while others, as you say, are of opinion that they do
not care about us; and others that they are turned from their course by gifts. Now we
have a right to claim, as you yourself allowed, in the matter of laws, that before you are
hard upon us and threaten us, you should argue with us and convince us—you should
first attempt to teach and persuade us that there are Gods by reasonable evidences, and
also that they are too good to be unrighteous, or to be propitiated, or turned from their
course by gifts. For when we hear such things said of them by those who are esteemed to
be the best of poets, and orators, and prophets, and priests, and by innumerable others,
the thoughts of most of us are not set upon abstaining from unrighteous acts, but upon
doing them and atoning for them. When lawgivers profess that they are gentle and not
stern, we think that they should first of all use persuasion to us, and show us the
existence of Gods, if not in a better manner than other men, at any rate in a truer; and
who knows but that we shall hearken to you? If then our request is a fair one, please to
accept our challenge.”
Cleinias. But is there any difficulty in proving the existence of the Gods?
Athenian. How would you prove it?
Cleinias. How? In the first place, the earth and the sun, and the stars and the universe,
and the fair order of the seasons, and the division of them into years and months,
furnish proofs of their existence; and also there is the fact that all Hellenes and
barbarians believe in them.
Athenian. I fear, my sweet friend, though I will not say that I much regard, the contempt
with which the profane will be likely to assail us. For you do not understand the nature
of their complaint, and you fancy that they rush into impiety only from a love of sensual
pleasure.
Cleinias. Why, Stranger, what other reason is there?
Athenian. One which you who live in a different atmosphere would never guess.
Cleinias. What is it?
Athenian. A very grievous sort of ignorance which is imagined to be the greatest
wisdom.
Cleinias. What do you mean?
Athenian. At Athens there are tales preserved in writing which the virtue of your state,
as I am informed, refuses to admit. They speak of the Gods in prose as well as verse, and
the oldest of them tell of the origin of the heavens and of the world, and not far from the
beginning of their story they proceed to narrate the birth of the Gods, and how after they
were born they behaved to one another. Whether these stories have in other ways a good
or a bad influence, I should not like to be severe upon them, because they are ancient;
but, looking at them with reference to the duties of children to their parents, I cannot
praise them, or think that they are useful, or at all true. Of the words of the ancients I
have nothing more to say; and I should wish to say of them only what is pleasing to the
Gods. But as to our younger generation and their wisdom, I cannot let them off when
they do mischief. For do but mark the effect of their words: when you and I argue for the
existence of the Gods, and produce the sun, moon, stars, and earth, claiming for them a
divine being, if we would listen to the aforesaid philosophers we should say that they are
earth and stones only, which can have no care at all of human affairs, and that all
religion is a cooking up of words and a make–believe.
Cleinias. One such teacher, O Stranger, would be bad enough, and you imply that there
are many of them, which is worse.
Athenian. Well, then; what shall we say or do?—Shall we assume that some one is
accusing us among unholy men, who are trying to escape from the effect of our
legislation; and that they say of us—How dreadful that you should legislate on the
supposition that there are Gods! Shall we make a defence of ourselves? or shall we leave
them and return to our laws, lest the prelude should become longer than the law? For
the discourse will certainly extend to great length, if we are to treat the impiously
disposed as they desire, partly demonstrating to them at some length the things of which
they demand an explanation, partly making them afraid or dissatisfied, and then
proceed to the requisite enactments.
Cleinias. Yes, Stranger; but then how often have we repeated already that on the present
occasion there is no reason why brevity should be preferred to length; who is “at our
heels”?—as the saying goes, and it would be paltry and ridiculous to prefer the shorter to
the better. It is a matter of no small consequence, in some way or other to prove that
there are Gods, and that they are good, and regard justice more than men do. The
demonstration of this would be the best and noblest prelude of all our laws. And
therefore, without impatience, and without hurry, let us unreservedly consider the
whole matter, summoning up all the power of persuasion which we possess.
Athenian. Seeing you thus in earnest, I would fain offer up a prayer that I may
succeed:—but I must proceed at once. Who can be calm when he is called upon to prove
the existence of the Gods? Who can avoid hating and abhorring the men who are and
have been the cause of this argument; I speak of those who will not believe the tales
which they have heard as babes and sucklings from their mothers and nurses, repeated
by them both in jest and earnest, like charms, who have also heard them in the
sacrificial prayers, and seen sights accompanying them—sights and sounds delightful to
children—and their parents during the sacrifices showing an intense earnestness on
behalf of their children and of themselves, and with eager interest talking to the Gods,
and beseeching them, as though they were firmly convinced of their existence; who
likewise see and hear the prostrations and invocations which are made by Hellenes and
barbarians at the rising and setting of the sun and moon, in all the vicissitudes of life,
not as if they thought that there were no Gods, but as if there could be no doubt of their
existence, and no suspicion of their non–existence; when men, knowing all these things,
despise them on no real grounds, as would be admitted by all who have any particle of
intelligence, and when they force us to say what we are now saying, how can any one in
gentle terms remonstrate with the like of them, when he has to begin by proving to them
the very existence of the Gods? Yet the attempt must be made; for it would be unseemly
that one half of mankind should go mad in their lust of pleasure, and the other half in
their indignation at such persons. Our address to these lost and perverted natures
should not be spoken in passion; let us suppose ourselves to select some one of them,
and gently reason with him, smothering our anger:—O my son, we will say to him, you
are young, and the advance of time will make you reverse may of the opinions which you
now hold. Wait awhile, and do not attempt to judge at present of the highest things; and
that is the highest of which you now think nothing—to know the Gods rightly and to live
accordingly. And in the first place let me indicate to you one point which is of great
importance, and about which I cannot be deceived:—You and your friends are not the
first who have held this opinion about the Gods. There have always been persons more
or less numerous who have had the same disorder. I have known many of them, and can
tell you, that no one who had taken up in youth this opinion, that the Gods do not exist,
ever continued in the same until he was old; the two other notions certainly do continue
in some cases, but not in many; the notion, I mean, that the Gods exist, but take no heed
of human things, and the other notion that they do take heed of them, but are easily
propitiated with sacrifices and prayers. As to the opinion about the Gods which may
some day become clear to you, I advise you go wait and consider if it be true or not; ask
of others, and above all of the legislator. In the meantime take care that you do not
offend against the Gods. For the duty of the legislator is and always will be to teach you
the truth of these matters.
Cleinias. Our address, Stranger, thus far, is excellent.
Athenian. Quite true, Megillus and Cleinias, but I am afraid that we have unconsciously
lighted on a strange doctrine.
Cleinias. What doctrine do you mean?
Athenian. The wisest of all doctrines, in the opinion of many.
Cleinias. I wish that you would speak plainer.
Athenian. The doctrine that all things do become, have become, and will become, some
by nature, some by art, and some by chance.
Cleinias. Is not that true?
Athenian. Well, philosophers are probably right; at any rate we may as well follow in
their track, and examine what is the meaning of them and their disciples.
Cleinias. By all means.
Athenian. They say that the greatest and fairest things are the work of nature and of
chance, the lesser of art, which, receiving from nature the greater and primeval
creations, moulds and fashions all those lesser works which are generally termed
artificial.
Cleinias. How is that?
Athenian. I will explain my meaning still more clearly. They say that fire and water, and
earth and air, all exist by nature and chance, and none of them by art, and that as to the
bodies which come next in order—earth, and sun, and moon, and stars—they have been
created by means of these absolutely inanimate existences. The elements are severally
moved by chance and some inherent force according to certain affinities among them—
of hot with cold, or of dry with moist, or of soft with hard, and according to all the other
accidental admixtures of opposites which have been formed by necessity. After this
fashion and in this manner the whole heaven has been created, and all that is in the
heaven, as well as animals and all plants, and all the seasons come from these elements,
not by the action of mind, as they say, or of any God, or from art, but as I was saying, by
nature and chance only. Art sprang up afterwards and out of these, mortal and of mortal
birth, and produced in play certain images and very partial imitations of the truth,
having an affinity to one another, such as music and painting create and their
companion arts. And there are other arts which have a serious purpose, and these co–
operate with nature, such, for example, as medicine, and husbandry, and gymnastic.
And they say that politics cooperate with nature, but in a less degree, and have more of
art; also that legislation is entirely a work of art, and is based on assumptions which are
not true.
Cleinias. How do you mean?
Athenian. In the first place, my dear friend, these people would say that the Gods exist
not by nature, but by art, and by the laws of states, which are different in different
places, according to the agreement of those who make them; and that the honourable is
one thing by nature and another thing by law, and that the principles of justice have no
existence at all in nature, but that mankind are always disputing about them and
altering them; and that the alterations which are made by art and by law have no basis
in nature, but are of authority for the moment and at the time at which they are made.—
These, my friends, are the sayings of wise men, poets and prose writers, which find a
way into the minds of youth. They are told by them that the highest right is might, and
in this way the young fall into impieties, under the idea that the Gods are not such as the
law bids them imagine; and hence arise factions, these philosophers inviting them to
lead a true life according to nature, that is, to live in real dominion over others, and not
in legal subjection to them.
Cleinias. What a dreadful picture, Stranger, have you given, and how great is the injury
which is thus inflicted on young men to the ruin both of states and families!
Athenian. True, Cleinias; but then what should the lawgiver do when this evil is of long
standing? should he only rise up in the state and threaten all mankind, proclaiming that
if they will not say and think that the Gods are such as the law ordains (and this may be
extended generally to the honourable, the just, and to all the highest things, and to all
that relates to virtue and vice), and if they will not make their actions conform to the
copy which the law gives them, then he who refuses to obey the law shall die, or suffer
stripes and bonds, or privation of citizenship, or in some cases be punished by loss of
property and exile? Should he not rather, when he is making laws for men, at the same
time infuse the spirit of persuasion into his words, and mitigate the severity of them as
far as he can?
Cleinias. Why, Stranger, if such persuasion be at all possible, then a legislator who has
anything in him ought never to weary of persuading men; he ought to leave nothing
unsaid in support of the ancient opinion that there are Gods, and of all those other
truths which you were just now mentioning; he ought to support the law and also art,
and acknowledge that both alike exist by nature, and no less than nature, if they are the
creations of mind in accordance with right reason, you appear to me to maintain, and I
am disposed to agree with you in thinking.
Athenian. Yes, my enthusiastic Cleinias; but are not these things when spoken to a
multitude hard to be understood, not to mention that they take up a dismal length of
time?
Cleinias. Why, Stranger, shall we, whose patience failed not when drinking or music
were the themes of discourse, weary now of discoursing about the Gods, and about
divine things? And the greatest help to rational legislation is that the laws when once
written down are always at rest; they can be put to the test at any future time, and
therefore, if on first hearing they seem difficult, there is no reason for apprehension
about them, because any man however dull can go over them and consider them again
and again; nor if they are tedious but useful, is there any reason or religion, as it seems
to me, in any man refusing to maintain the principles of them to the utmost of his
power.
Megillus. Stranger, I like what Cleinias is saying.
Athenian. Yes, Megillus, and we should do as he proposes; for if impious discourses
were not scattered, as I may say, throughout the world, there would have been no need
for any vindication of the existence of the Gods—but seeing that they are spread far and
wide, such arguments are needed; and who should come to the rescue of the greatest
laws, when they are being undermined by bad men, but the legislator himself?
Megillus. There is no more proper champion of them.
Athenian. Well, then, tell me, Cleinias—for I must ask you to be my partner—does not he
who talks in this way conceive fire and water and earth and air to be the first elements of
all things? These he calls nature, and out of these he supposes the soul to be formed
afterwards; and this is not a mere conjecture of ours about his meaning, but is what he
really means.
Cleinias. Very true.
Athenian. Then, by Heaven, we have discovered the source of this vain opinion of all
those physical investigators; and I would have you examine their arguments with the
utmost care, for their impiety is a very serious matter; they not only make a bad and
mistaken use of argument, but they lead away the minds of others: that is my opinion of
them.
Cleinias. You are right; but I should like to know how this happens.
Athenian. I fear that the argument may seem singular.
Cleinias. Do not hesitate, Stranger; I see that you are afraid of such a discussion carrying
you beyond the limits of legislation. But if there be no other way of showing our
agreement in the belief that there are Gods, of whom the law is said now to approve, let
us take this way, my good sir.
Athenian. Then I suppose that I must repeat the singular argument of those who
manufacture the soul according to their own impious notions; they affirm that which is
the first cause of the generation and destruction of all things, to be not first, but last, and
that which is last to be first, and hence they have fallen into error about the true nature
of the Gods.
Cleinias. Still I do not understand you.
Athenian. Nearly all of them, my friends, seem to be ignorant of the nature and power of
the soul, especially in what relates to her origin: they do not know that she is among the
first of things, and before all bodies, and is the chief author of their changes and
transpositions. And if this is true, and if the soul is older than the body, must not the
things which are of the soul’s kindred be of necessity prior to those which appertain to
the body?
Cleinias. Certainly.
Athenian. Then thought and attention and mind and art and law will be prior to that
which is hard and soft and heavy and light; and the great and primitive works and
actions will be works of art; they will be the first, and after them will come nature and
works of nature, which however is a wrong term for men to apply to them; these will
follow, and will be under the government of art and mind.
Cleinias. But why is the word “nature” wrong?
Athenian. Because those who use the term mean to say that nature is the first creative
power; but if the soul turn out to be the primeval element, and not fire or air, then in the
truest sense and beyond other things the soul may be said to exist by nature; and this
would be true if you proved that the soul is older than the body, but not otherwise.
Cleinias. You are quite right.
Athenian. Shall we, then, take this as the next point to which our attention should be
directed?
Cleinias. By all means.
Athenian. Let us be on our guard lest this most deceptive argument with its youthful
looks, beguiling us old men, give us the slip and make a laughing–stock of us. Who
knows but we may be aiming at the greater, and fail of attaining the lesser? Suppose that
we three have to pass a rapid river, and I, being the youngest of the three and
experienced in rivers, take upon me the duty of making the attempt first by myself;
leaving you in safety on the bank, I am to examine whether the river is passable by older
men like yourselves, and if such appears to be the case then I shall invite you to follow,
and my experience will help to convey you across; but if the river is impassable by you,
then there will have been no danger to anybody but myself—would not that seem to be a
very fair proposal? I mean to say that the argument in prospect is likely to be too much
for you, out of your depth and beyond your strength, and I should be afraid that the
stream of my questions might create in you who are not in the habit of answering,
giddiness and confusion of mind, and hence a feeling of unpleasantness and
unsuitableness might arise. I think therefore that I had better first ask the questions and
then answer them myself while you listen in safety; in that way I can carry on the
argument until I have completed the proof that the soul is prior to the body.
Cleinias. Excellent, Stranger, and I hope that you will do as you propose.
Athenian. Come, then, and if ever we are to call upon the Gods, let us call upon them
now in all seriousness to come to the demonstration of their own existence. And so
holding fast to the rope we will venture upon the depths of the argument. When
questions of this sort are asked of me, my safest answer would appear to be as follows:—
Some one says to me, “O Stranger, are all things at rest and nothing in motion, or is the
exact opposite of this true, or are some things in motion and others at rest?—To this I
shall reply that some things are in motion and others at rest. “And do not things which
move a place, and are not the things which are at rest at rest in a place?” Certainly. “And
some move or rest in one place and some in more places than one?” You mean to say, we
shall rejoin, that those things which rest at the centre move in one place, just as the
circumference goes round of globes which are said to be at rest? “Yes.” And we observe
that, in the revolution, the motion which carries round the larger and the lesser circle at
the same time is proportionally distributed to greater and smaller, and is greater and
smaller in a certain proportion. Here is a wonder which might be thought an
impossibility, that the same motion should impart swiftness and slowness in due
proportion to larger and lesser circles. “Very true.” And when you speak of bodies
moving in many places, you seem to me to mean those which move from one place to
another, and sometimes have one centre of motion and sometimes more than one
because they turn upon their axis; and whenever they meet anything, if it be stationary,
they are divided by it; but if they get in the midst between bodies which are approaching
and moving towards the same spot from opposite directions, they unite with them. “I
admit the truth of what you are saying.” Also when they unite they grow, and when they
are divided they waste away—that is, supposing the constitution of each to remain, or if
that fails, then there is a second reason of their dissolution. “And when are all things
created and how?” Clearly, they are created when the first principle receives increase
and attains to the second dimension, and from this arrives at the one which is neighbour
to this, and after reaching the third becomes perceptible to sense. Everything which is
thus changing and moving is in process of generation; only when at rest has it real
existence, but when passing into another state it is destroyed utterly. Have we not
mentioned all motions that there are, and comprehended them under their kinds and
numbered them with the exception, my friends, of two?
Cleinias. Which are they?
Athenian. Just the two, with which our present enquiry is concerned.
Cleinias. Speak plainer.
Athenian. I suppose that our enquiry has reference to the soul?
Cleinias. Very true.
Athenian. Let us assume that there is a motion able to move other things, but not to
move itself;—that is one kind; and there is another kind which can move itself as well as
other things, working in composition and decomposition, by increase and diminution
and generation and destruction—that is also one of the many kinds of motion.
Cleinias. Granted.
Athenian. And we will assume that which moves other, and is changed by other, to be
the ninth, and that which changes itself and others, and is co–incident with every action
and every passion, and is the true principle of change and motion in all that is—that we
shall be inclined to call the tenth.
Cleinias. Certainly.
Athenian. And which of these ten motions ought we to prefer as being the mightiest and
most efficient?
Cleinias. I must say that the motion which is able to move itself is ten thousand times
superior to all the others.
Athenian. Very good; but may I make one or two corrections in what I have been saying?
Cleinias. What are they?
Athenian. When I spoke of the tenth sort of motion, that was not quite correct.
Cleinias. What was the error?
Athenian. According to the true order, the tenth was really the first in generation and
power; then follows the second, which was strangely enough termed the ninth by us.
Cleinias. What do you mean?
Athenian. I mean this: when one thing changes another, and that another, of such will
there be any primary changing element? How can a thing which is moved by another
ever be the beginning of change? Impossible. But when the self–moved changes other,
and that again other, and thus thousands upon tens of thousands of bodies are set in
motion, must not the beginning of all this motion be the change of the self–moving
principle?
Cleinias. Very true, and I quite agree.
Athenian. Or, to put the question in another way, making answer to ourselves:—If, as
most of these philosophers have the audacity to affirm, all things were at rest in one
mass, which of the above–mentioned principles of motion would first spring up among
them?
Cleinias. Clearly the self–moving; for there could be no change in them arising out of
any external cause; the change must first take place in themselves.
Athenian. Then we must say that self–motion being the origin of all motions, and the
first which arises among things at rest as well as among things in motion, is the eldest
and mightiest principle of change, and that which is changed by another and yet moves
other is second.
Cleinias. Quite true.
Athenian. At this stage of the argument let us put a question.
Cleinias. What question?
Athenian. If we were to see this power existing in any earthy, watery, or fiery substance,
simple or compound—how should we describe it?
Cleinias. You mean to ask whether we should call such a self–moving power life?
Athenian. I do.
Cleinias. Certainly we should.
Athenian. And when we see soul in anything, must we not do the same—must we not
admit that this is life?
Cleinias. We must.
Athenian. And now, I beseech you, reflect;—you would admit that we have a threefold
knowledge of things?
Cleinias. What do you mean?
Athenian. I mean that we know the essence, and that we know the definition of the
essence, and the name,—these are the three; and there are two questions which may be
raised about anything.
Cleinias. How two?
Athenian. Sometimes a person may give the name and ask the definition; or he may give
the definition and ask the name. I may illustrate what I mean in this way.
Cleinias. How?
Athenian. Number like some other things is capable of being divided into equal parts;
when thus divided, number is named “even,” and the definition of the name “even” is
“number divisible into two equal parts”?
Cleinias. True.
Athenian. I mean, that when we are asked about the definition and give the name, or
when we are asked about the name and give the definition—in either case, whether we
give name or definition, we speak of the same thing, calling “even” the number which is
divided into two equal parts.
Cleinias. Quite true.
Athenian. And what is the definition of that which is named “soul”? Can we conceive of
any other than that which has been already given—the motion which can move itself?
Cleinias. You mean to say that the essence which is defined as the self–moved is the
same with that which has the name soul?
Athenian. Yes; and if this is true, do we still maintain that there is anything wanting in
the proof that the soul is the first origin and moving power of all that is, or has become,
or will be, and their contraries, when she has been clearly shown to be the source of
change and motion in all things?
Cleinias. Certainly not; the soul as being the source of motion, has been most
satisfactorily shown to be the oldest of all things.
Athenian. And is not that motion which is produced in another, by reason of another,
but never has any self–moving power at all, being in truth the change of an inanimate
body, to be reckoned second, or by any lower number which you may prefer?
Cleinias. Exactly.
Athenian. Then we are right, and speak the most perfect and absolute truth, when we
say that the soul is prior to the body, and that the body is second and comes afterwards,
and is born to obey the soul, which is the ruler?
Cleinias. Nothing can be more true.
Athenian. Do you remember our old admission, that if the soul was prior to the body the
things of the soul were also prior to those of the body?
Cleinias. Certainly.
Athenian. Then characters and manners, and wishes and reasonings, and true opinions,
and reflections, and recollections are prior to length and breadth and depth and
strength of bodies, if the soul is prior to the body.
Cleinias. To be sure.
Athenian. In the next place, must we not of necessity admit that the soul is the cause of
good and evil, base and honourable, just and unjust, and of all other opposites, if we
suppose her to be the cause of all things?
Cleinias. We must.
Athenian. And as the soul orders and inhabits all things that move, however moving,
must we not say that she orders also the heavens?
Cleinias. Of course.
Athenian. One soul or more? More than one—I will answer for you; at any rate, we must
not suppose that there are less than two—one the author of good, and the other of evil.
Cleinias. Very true.
Athenian. Yes, very true; the soul then directs all things in heaven, and earth, and sea by
her movements, and these are described by the terms—will, consideration, attention,
deliberation, opinion true and false, joy and sorrow, confidence, fear, hatred, love, and
other primary motions akin to these; which again receive the secondary motions of
corporeal substances, and guide all things to growth and decay, to composition and
decomposition, and to the qualities which accompany them, such as heat and cold,
heaviness and lightness, hardness and softness, blackness and whiteness, bitterness and
sweetness, and all those other qualities which the soul uses, herself a goddess, when
truly receiving the divine mind she disciplines all things rightly to their happiness; but
when she is the companion of folly, she does the very contrary of all this. Shall we
assume so much, or do we still entertain doubts?
Cleinias. There is no room at all for doubt.
Athenian. Shall we say then that it is the soul which controls heaven and earth, and the
whole world?—that it is a principle of wisdom and virtue, or a principle which has
neither wisdom nor virtue? Suppose that we make answer as follows:—
Cleinias. How would you answer?
Athenian. If, my friend, we say that the whole path and movement of heaven, and of all
that is therein, is by nature akin to the movement and revolution and calculation of
mind, and proceeds by kindred laws, then, as is plain, we must say that the best soul
takes care of the world and guides it along the good path.
Cleinias. True.
Athenian. But if the world moves wildly and irregularly, then the evil soul guides it.
Cleinias. True again.
Athenian. Of what nature is the movement of mind?—To this question it is not easy to
give an intelligent answer; and therefore I ought to assist you in framing one.
Cleinias. Very good.
Athenian. Then let us not answer as if we would look straight at the sun, making
ourselves darkness at midday—I mean as if we were under the impression that we could
see with mortal eyes, or know adequately the nature of mind;—it will be safer to look at
the image only.
Cleinias. What do you mean?
Athenian. Let us select of the ten motions the one which mind chiefly resembles; this I
will bring to your recollection, and will then make the answer on behalf of us all.
Cleinias. That will be excellent.
Athenian. You will surely remember our saying that all things were either at rest or in
motion?
Cleinias. I do.
Athenian. And that of things in motion some were moving in one place, and others in
more than one?
Cleinias. Yes.
Athenian. Of these two kinds of motion, that which moves in one place must move about
a centre like globes made in a lathe, and is most entirely akin and similar to the circular
movement of mind.
Cleinias. What do you mean?
Athenian. In saying that both mind and the motion which is in one place move in the
same and like manner, in and about the same, and in relation to the same, and
according to one proportion and order, and are like the motion of a globe, we invented a
fair image, which does no discredit to our ingenuity.
Cleinias. It does us great credit.
Athenian. And the motion of the other sort which is not after the same manner, nor in
the same, nor about the same, nor in relation to the same, nor in one place, nor in order,
nor according to any rule or proportion, may be said to be akin to senselessness and
folly?
Cleinias. That is most true.
Athenian. Then, after what has been said, there is no difficulty in distinctly stating, that
since soul carries all things round, either the best soul or the contrary must of necessity
carry round and order and arrange the revolution of the heaven.
Cleinias. And judging from what has been said, Stranger, there would be impiety in
asserting that any but the most perfect soul or souls carries round the heavens.
Athenian. You have understood my meaning right well, Cleinias, and now let me ask you
another question.
Cleinias. What are you going to ask?
Athenian. If the soul carries round the sun and moon, and the other stars, does she not
carry round each individual of them?
Cleinias. Certainly.
Athenian. Then of one of them let us speak, and the same argument will apply to all.
Cleinias. Which will you take?
Athenian. Every one sees the body of the sun, but no one sees his soul, nor the soul of
any other body living or dead; and yet there is great reason to believe that this nature,
unperceived by any of our senses, is circumfused around them all, but is perceived by
mind; and therefore by mind and reflection only let us apprehend the following point.
Cleinias. What is that?
Athenian. If the soul carries round the sun, we shall not be far wrong in supposing one
of three alternatives.
Cleinias. What are they?
Athenian. Either the soul which moves the sun this way and that, resides within the
circular and visible body, like the soul which carries us about every way; or the soul
provides herself with an external body of fire or air, as some affirm, and violently
propels body by body; or thirdly, she is without such abody, but guides the sun by some
extraordinary and wonderful power.
Cleinias. Yes, certainly; the soul can only order all things in one of these three ways.
Athenian. And this soul of the sun, which is therefore better than the sun, whether
taking the sun about in a chariot to give light to men, or acting from without or in
whatever way, ought by every man to be deemed a God.
Cleinias. Yes, by every man who has the least particle of sense.
Athenian. And of the stars too, and of the moon, and of the years and months and
seasons, must we not say in like manner, that since a soul or souls having every sort of
excellence are the causes of all of them, those souls are Gods, whether they are living
beings and reside in bodies, and in this way order the whole heaven, or whatever be the
place and mode of their existence;—and will any one who admits all this venture to deny
that all things full of Gods?
Cleinias. No one, Stranger, would be such a madman.
Athenian. And now, Megillus and Cleinias, let us offer terms to him who has hitherto
denied the existence of the Gods, and leave him.
Cleinias. What terms?
Athenian. Either he shall teach us that we were wrong in saying that the soul is the
original of all things, and arguing accordingly; or, if he be not able to say anything
better, then he must yield to us and live for the remainder of his life in the belief that
there are Gods.—Let us see, then, whether we have said enough or not enough to those
who deny that there are Gods.
Cleinias. Certainly—quite enough, Stranger.
Athenian. Then to them we will say no more. And now we are to address him who,
believing that there are Gods, believes also that they take no heed of human affairs: To
him we say—O thou best of men, in believing that there are Gods you are led by some
affinity to them, which attracts you towards your kindred and makes you honour and
believe in them. But the fortunes of evil and unrighteous men in private as well as public
life, which, though not really happy, are wrongly counted happy in the judgment of men,
and are celebrated both by poets and prose writers—these draw you aside from your
natural piety. Perhaps you have seen impious men growing old and leaving their
children’s children in high offices, and their prosperity shakes your faith—you have
known or heard or been yourself an eyewitness of many monstrous impieties, and have
beheld men by such criminal means from small beginnings attaining to sovereignty and
the pinnacle of greatness; and considering all these things you do not like to accuse the
Gods of them, because they are your relatives; and so from some want of reasoning
power, and also from an unwillingness to find fault with them, you have come to believe
that they exist indeed, but have no thought or care of human things. Now, that your
present evil opinion may not grow to still greater impiety, and that we may if possible
use arguments which may conjure away the evil before it arrives, we will add another
argument to that originally addressed to him who utterly denied the existence of the
Gods. And do you, Megillus and Cleinias, answer for the young man as you did before;
and if any impediment comes in our way, I will take the word out of your mouths, and
carry you over the river as I did just now.
Cleinias. Very good; do as you say, and we will help you as well as we can.
Athenian. There will probably be no difficulty in proving to him that the Gods care about
the small as well as about the great. For he was present and heard what was said, that
they are perfectly good, and that the care of all things is most entirely natural to them.
Cleinias. No doubt he heard that.
Athenian. Let us consider together in the next place what we mean by this virtue which
we ascribe to them. Surely we should say that to be temperate and to possess mind
belongs to virtue, and the contrary to vice?
Cleinias. Certainly.
Athenian. Yes; and courage is a part of virtue, and cowardice of vice?
Cleinias. True.
Athenian. And the one is honourable, and the other dishonourable?
Cleinias. To be sure.
Athenian. And the one, like other meaner things, is a human quality, but the Gods have
no part in anything of the sort?
Cleinias. That again is what everybody will admit.
Athenian. But do we imagine carelessness and idleness and luxury to be virtues? What
do you think?
Cleinias. Decidedly not.
Athenian. They rank under the opposite class?
Cleinias. Yes.
Athenian. And their opposites, therefore, would fall under the opposite class?
Cleinias. Yes.
Athenian. But are we to suppose that one who possesses all these good qualities will be
luxurious and heedless and idle, like those whom the poet compares to stingless drones?
Cleinias. And the comparison is a most just one.
Athenian. Surely God must not be supposed to have a nature which he himself hates?—
he who dares to say this sort of thing must not be tolerated for a moment.
Cleinias. Of course not. How could he have?
Athenian. Should we not on any principle be entirely mistaken in praising any one who
has some special business entrusted to him, if he have a mind which takes care of great
matters and no care of small ones? Reflect; he who acts in this way, whether he be God
or man, must act from one of two principles.
Cleinias. What are they?
Athenian. Either he must think that the neglect of the small matters is of no
consequence to the whole, or if he knows that they are of consequence, and he neglects
them, his neglect must be attributed to carelessness and indolence. Is there any other
way in which his neglect can be explained? For surely, when it is impossible for him to
take care of all, he is not negligent if he fails to attend to these things great or small,
which a God or some inferior being might be wanting in strength or capacity to manage?
Cleinias. Certainly not.
Athenian. Now, then, let us examine the offenders, who both alike confess that there are
Gods, but with a difference—the one saying that they may be appeased, and the other
that they have no care of small matters: there are three of us and two of them, and we
will say to them—In the first place, you both acknowledge that the Gods hear and see
and know all things, and that nothing can escape them which is matter of sense and
knowledge:—do you admit this?
Cleinias. Yes.
Athenian. And do you admit also that they have all power which mortals and immortals
can have?
Cleinias. They will, of course, admit this also.
Athenian. And surely we three and they two—five in all—have acknowledged that they
are good and perfect?
Cleinias. Assuredly.
Athenian. But, if they are such as we conceive them to be, can we possibly suppose that
they ever act in the spirit of carelessness and indolence? For in us inactivity is the child
of cowardice, and carelessness of inactivity and indolence.
Cleinias. Most true.
Athenian. Then not from inactivity and carelessness is any God ever negligent; for there
is no cowardice in them.
Cleinias. That is very true.
Athenian. Then the alternative which remains is, that if the Gods neglect the lighter and
lesser concerns of the universe, they neglect them because they know that they ought
not to care about such matters—what other alternative is there but the opposite of their
knowing?
Cleinias. There is none.
Athenian. And, O most excellent and best of men, do I understand you to mean that they
are careless because they are ignorant, and do not know that they ought to take care, or
that they know, and yet like the meanest sort of men, knowing the better, choose the
worse because they are overcome by pleasures and pains?
Cleinias. Impossible.
Athenian. Do not all human things partake of the nature of soul? And is not man the
most religious of all animals?
Cleinias. That is not to be denied.
Athenian. And we acknowledge that all mortal creatures are the property of the Gods, to
whom also the whole of heaven belongs?
Cleinias. Certainly.
Athenian. And, therefore, whether a person says that these things are to the Gods great
or small—in either case it would not be natural for the Gods who own us, and who are
the most careful and the best of owners to neglect us.—There is also a further
consideration.
Cleinias. What is it?
Athenian. Sensation and power are in an inverse ratio to each other in respect to their
case and difficulty.
Cleinias. What do you mean?
Athenian. I mean that there is greater difficulty in seeing and hearing the small than the
great, but more facility in moving and controlling and taking care of and unimportant
things than of their opposites.
Cleinias. Far more.
Athenian. Suppose the case of a physician who is willing and able to cure some living
thing as a whole—how will the whole fare at his hands if he takes care only of the greater
and neglects the parts which are lesser?
Cleinias. Decidedly not well.
Athenian. No better would be the result with pilots or generals, or householders or
statesmen, or any other such class, if they neglected the small and regarded only the
great;—as the builders say, the larger stones do not lie well without the lesser.
Cleinias. Of course not.
Athenian. Let us not, then, deem God inferior to human workmen, who, in proportion to
their skill, finish and perfect their works, small as well as great, by one and the same art;
or that God, the wisest of beings, who is both willing and able to take care, is like a lazy
good–for–nothing, or a coward, who turns his back upon labour and gives no thought to
smaller and easier matters, but to the greater only.
Cleinias. Never, Stranger, let us admit a supposition about the Gods which is both
impious and false.
Athenian. I think that we have now argued enough with him who delights to accuse the
Gods of neglect.
Cleinias. Yes.
Athenian. He has been forced to acknowledge that he is in error, but he still seems to me
to need some words of consolation.
Cleinias. What consolation will you offer him?
Athenian. Let us say to the youth:—The ruler of the universe has ordered all things with
a view to the excellence and preservation of the whole, and each part, as far as may be,
has an action and passion appropriate to it. Over these, down to the least fraction of
them, ministers have been appointed to preside, who have wrought out their perfection
with infinitesimal exactness. And one of these portions of the universe is thine own,
unhappy man, which, however little, contributes to the whole; and you do not seem to
be aware that this and every other creation is for the sake of the whole, and in order that
the life of the whole may be blessed; and that you are created for the sake of the whole,
and not the whole for the sake of you. For every physician and every skilled artist does
all things for the sake of the whole, directing his effort towards the common good,
executing the part for the sake of the whole, and not the whole for the sake of the part.
And you are annoyed because you are ignorant how what is best for you happens to you
and to the universe, as far as the laws of the common creation admit. Now, as the soul
combining first with one body and then with another undergoes all sorts of changes,
either of herself, or through the influence of another soul, all that remains to the player
of the game is that he should shift the pieces; sending the better nature to the better
place, and the worse to the worse, and so assigning to them their proper portion.
Cleinias. In what way do you mean?
Athenian. In a way which may be supposed to make the care of all things easy to the
Gods. If any one were to form or fashion all things without any regard to the whole—if,
for example, he formed a living element of water out of fire, instead of forming many
things out of one or one out of many in regular order attaining to a first or second or
third birth, the transmutation would have been infinite; but now the ruler of the world
has a wonderfully easy task.
Cleinias. How so?
Athenian. I will explain:—When the king saw that our actions had life, and that there
was much virtue in them and much vice, and that the soul and body, although not, like
the Gods of popular opinion, eternal, yet having once come into existence, were
indestructible (for if either of them had been destroyed, there would have been no
generation of living beings); and when he observed that the good of the soul was ever by
nature designed to profit men, and the evil to harm them—he, seeing all this, contrived
so to place each of the parts that their position might in the easiest and best manner
procure the victory of good and the defeat of evil in the whole. And he contrived a
general plan by which a thing of a certain nature found a certain seat and room. But the
formation of qualities he left to the wills of individuals. For every one of us is made
pretty much what he is by the bent of his desires and the nature of his soul.
Cleinias. Yes, that is probably true.
Athenian. Then all things which have a soul change, and possess in themselves a
principle of change, and in changing move according to law and to the order of destiny:
natures which have undergone a lesser change move less and on the earth’s surface, but
those which have suffered more change and have become more criminal sink into the
abyss, that is to say, into Hades and other places in the world below, of which the very
names terrify men, and which they picture to themselves as in a dream, both while alive
and when released from the body. And whenever the soul receives more of good or evil
from her own energy and the strong influence of others—when she has communion with
divine virtue and becomes divine, she is carried into another and better place, which is
perfect in holiness; but when she has communion with evil, then she also changes the
Place of her life.
This is the justice of the Gods who inhabit Olympus.
O youth or young man, who fancy that you are neglected by the Gods, know that if you
become worse you shall go to the worse souls, or if better to the better, and in every
succession of life and death you will do and suffer what like may fitly suffer at the hands
of like. This is the justice of heaven, which neither you nor any other unfortunate will
ever glory in escaping, and which the ordaining powers have specially ordained; take
good heed thereof, for it will be sure to take heed of you. If you say:—I am small and will
creep into the depths of the earth, or I am high and will fly up to heaven, you are not so
small or so high but that you shall pay the fitting penalty, either here or in the world
below or in some still more savage place whither you shall be conveyed. This is also the
explanation of the fate of those whom you saw, who had done unholy and evil deeds,
and from small beginnings had grown great, and you fancied that from being miserable
they had become happy; and in their actions, as in a mirror, you seemed to see the
universal neglect of the Gods, not knowing how they make all things work together and
contribute to the great whole. And thinkest thou, bold man, that thou needest not to
know this?—he who knows it not can never form any true idea of the happiness or
unhappiness of life or hold any rational discourse respecting either. If Cleinias and this
our reverend company succeed in bringing to you that you know not what you say of the
Gods, then will God help you; but should you desire to hear more, listen to what we say
to the third opponent, if you have any understanding whatsoever. For I think that we
have sufficiently proved the existence of the Gods, and that they care for men:—The
other notion that they are appeased by the wicked, and take gifts, is what we must not
concede to any one, and what every man should disprove to the utmost of his power.
Cleinias. Very good; let us do as you say.
Athenian. Well, then, by the Gods themselves I conjure you to tell me—if they are to be
propitiated, how are they to be propitiated? Who are they, and what is their nature?
Must they not be at least rulers who have to order unceasingly the whole heaven?
Cleinias. True.
Athenian. And to what earthly rulers can they be compared, or who to them? How in the
less can we find an image of the greater? Are they charioteers of contending pairs of
steeds, or pilots of vessels? Perhaps they might be compared to the generals of armies,
or they might be likened to physicians providing against the diseases which make war
upon the body, or to husbandmen observing anxiously the effects of the seasons on the
growth of plants; or I perhaps, to shepherds of flocks. For as we acknowledge the world
to be full of many goods and also of evils, and of more evils than goods, there is, as we
affirm, an immortal conflict going on among us, which requires marvellous
watchfulness; and in that conflict the Gods and demigods are our allies, and we are their
property. Injustice and insolence and folly are the destruction of us, and justice and
temperance and wisdom are our salvation; and the place of these latter is in the life of
the Gods, although some vestige of them may occasionally be discerned among
mankind. But upon this earth we know that there dwell souls possessing an unjust
spirit, who may be compared to brute animals, which fawn upon their keepers, whether
dogs or shepherds, or the best and most perfect masters; for they in like manner, as the
voices of the wicked declare, prevail by flattery and prayers and incantations, and are
allowed to make their gains with impunity. And this sin, which is termed dishonesty, is
an evil of the same kind as what is termed disease in living bodies or pestilence in years
or seasons of the year, and in cities and governments has another name, which is
injustice.
Cleinias. Quite true.
Athenian. What else can he say who declares that the Gods are always lenient to the
doers of unjust acts, if they divide the spoil with them? As if wolves were to toss a
portion of their prey to the dogs, and they, mollified by the gift, suffered them to tear the
flocks. Must not he who maintains that the Gods can be propitiated argue thus?
Cleinias. Precisely so.
Athenian. And to which of the above–mentioned classes of guardians would any man
compare the Gods without absurdity? Will he say that they are like pilots, who are
themselves turned away from their duty by “libations of wine and the savour of fat,” and
at last overturn both ship and sailors?
Cleinias. Assuredly not.
Athenian. And surely they are not like charioteers who are bribed to give up the victory
to other chariots?
Cleinias. That would be a fearful image of the Gods.
Athenian. Nor are they like generals, or physicians, or husbandmen, or shepherds; and
no one would compare them to dogs who have silenced by wolves.
Cleinias. A thing not to be spoken of.
Athenian. And are not all the Gods the chiefest of all guardians, and do they not guard
our highest interests?
Cleinias. Yes; the chiefest.
Athenian. And shall we say that those who guard our noblest interests, and are the best
of guardians, are inferior in virtue to dogs, and to men even of moderate excellence, who
would never betray justice for the sake of gifts which unjust men impiously offer them?
Cleinias. Certainly not: nor is such a notion to be endured, and he who holds this
opinion may be fairly singled out and characterized as of all impious men the wickedest
and most impious.
Athenian. Then are the three assertions—that the Gods exist, and that they take care of
men, and that they can never be persuaded to do injustice, now sufficiently
demonstrated? May we say that they are?
Cleinias. You have our entire assent to your words.
Athenian. I have spoken with vehemence because I am zealous against evil men; and I
will tell dear Cleinias, why I am so. I would not have the wicked think that, having the
superiority in argument, they may do as they please and act according to their various
imaginations about the Gods; and this zeal has led me to speak too vehemently; but if
we have at all succeeded in persuading the men to hate themselves and love their
opposites, the prelude of our laws about impiety will not have been spoken in vain.
Cleinias. So let us hope; and even if we have failed, the style of our argument will not
discredit the lawgiver.
Athenian. After the prelude shall follow a discourse, which will be the interpreter of the
law; this shall proclaim to all impious persons:—that they must depart from their ways
and go over to the pious. And to those who disobey, let the law about impiety be as
follows:—If a man is guilty of any impiety in word or deed, any one who happens to
present shall give information to the magistrates, in aid of the law; and let the
magistrates who. first receive the information bring him before the appointed court
according to the law; and if a magistrate, after receiving information, refuses to act, he
shall be tried for impiety at the instance of any one who is willing to vindicate the laws;
and if any one be cast, the court shall estimate the punishment of each act of impiety;
and let all such criminals be imprisoned. There shall be three prisons in the state: the
first of them is to be the common prison in the neighbourhood of the agora for the safe–
keeping of the generality of offenders; another is to be in the neighbourhood of the
nocturnal council, and is to be called the “House of Reformation”; another, to be
situated in some wild and desolate region in the centre of the country, shall be called by
some name expressive of retribution. Now, men fall into impiety from three causes,
which have been already mentioned, and from each of these causes arise two sorts of
impiety, in all six, which are worth distinguishing, and should not all have the same
punishment. For he who does not believe in Gods, and yet has a righteous nature, hates
the wicked and dislikes and refuses to do injustice, and avoids unrighteous men, and
loves the righteous. But they who besides believing that the world is devoid of Gods are
intemperate, and have at the same time good memories and quick wits, are worse;
although both of them are unbelievers, much less injury is done by the one than by the
other. The one may talk loosely about the Gods and about sacrifices and oaths, and
perhaps by laughing at other men he may make them like himself, if he be not punished.
But the other who holds the same opinions and is called a clever man, is full of
stratagem and deceit—men of this class deal in prophecy and jugglery of all kinds, and
out of their ranks sometimes come tyrants and demagogues and generals and
hierophants of private mysteries and the Sophists, as they are termed, with their
ingenious devices. There are many kinds of unbelievers, but two only for whom
legislation is required; one the hypocritical sort, whose crime is deserving of death many
times over, while the other needs only bonds and admonition. In like manner also the
notion that the Gods take no thought of men produces two other sorts of crimes, and the
notion that they may be propitiated produces two more. Assuming these divisions, let
those who have been made what they are only from want of understanding, and not
from malice or an evil nature, be placed by the judge in the House of Reformation, and
ordered to suffer imprisonment during a period of not less than five years. And in the
meantime let them have no intercourse with the other citizens, except with members of
the nocturnal council, and with them let them converse with a view to the improvement
of their soul’s health. And when the time of their imprisonment has expired, if any of
them be of sound mind let him be restored to sane company, but if not, and if he be
condemned a second time, let him be punished with death. As to that class of monstrous
natures who not only believe that there are no Gods, or that they are negligent, or to be
propitiated, but in contempt of mankind conjure the souls of the living and say that they
can conjure the dead and promise to charm the Gods with sacrifices and prayers, and
will utterly overthrow individuals and whole houses and states for the sake of money—
let him who is guilty of any of these things be condemned by the court to be bound
according to law in the prison which is in the centre of the land, and let no freeman ever
approach him, but let him receive the rations of food appointed by the guardians of the
law from the hands of the public slaves; and when he is dead let him be cast beyond the
borders unburied, and if any freeman assist in burying him, let him pay the penalty of
impiety to any one who is willing to bring a suit against him. But if he leaves behind him
children who are fit to be citizens, let the guardians of orphans take care of them, just as
they would of any other orphans, from the day on which their father is convicted.
In all these cases there should be one law, which will make men in general less liable to
transgress in word or deed, and less foolish, because they will not be allowed to practise
religious rites contrary to law. And let this be the simple form of the law:—No man shall
have sacred rites in a private house. When he would sacrifice, let him go to the temples
and hand over his offerings to the priests and priestesses, who see to the sanctity of such
things, and let him pray himself, and let any one who pleases join with him in prayer.
The reason of this is as follows:—Gods and temples are not easily instituted, and to
establish them rightly is the work of a mighty intellect. And women especially, and men
too, when they are sick or in danger, or in any sort of difficulty, or again on their
receiving any good fortune, have a way of consecrating the occasion, vowing sacrifices,
and promising shrines to Gods, demigods, and sons of Gods; and when they are
awakened by terrible apparitions and dreams or remember visions, they find in altars
and temples the remedies of them, and will fill every house and village with them,
placing them in the open air, or wherever they may have had such visions; and with a
view to all these cases we should obey the law. The law has also regard to the impious,
and would not have them fancy that by the secret performance of these actions—by
raising temples and by building altars in private houses, they can propitiate the God
secretly with sacrifices and prayers, while they are really multiplying their crimes
infinitely, bringing guilt from heaven upon themselves, and also upon those who permit
them, and who are better men than they are; and the consequence is that the whole state
reaps the fruit of their impiety, which, in a certain sense, is deserved. Assuredly God will
not blame the legislator, who will enact the following law:—No one shall possess shrines
of the Gods in private houses, and he who is found to possess them, and perform any
sacred rites not publicly authorized—supposing the offender to be some man or woman
who is not guilty of any other great and impious crime—shall be informed against by
him who is acquainted with the fact, which shall be announced by him to the guardians
of the law; and let them issue orders that he or she shall carry away their private rites to
the public temples, and if they do not persuade them, let them inflict a penalty on them
until they comply. And if a person be proven guilty of impiety, not merely from childish
levity, but such as grown–up men may be guilty of, whether he have sacrificed publicly
or privately to any Gods, let him be punished with death, for his sacrifice is impure.
Whether the deed has been done in earnest, or only from childish levity, let the
guardians of the law determine, before they bring the matter into court and prosecute
the offender for impiety.
BOOK XI
In the next place, dealings between man and man require to be suitably regulated. The
principle of them is very simple:—Thou shalt not, if thou canst help, touch that which is
mine, or remove the least thing which belongs to me without my consent; and may I be
of a sound mind, and do to others as I would that they should do to me. First, let us
speak of treasure trove:—May I never pray the Gods to find the hidden treasure, which
another has laid up for himself and his family, he not being one of my ancestors, nor lift,
if I should find, such a treasure. And may I never have any dealings with those who are
called diviners, and who in any way or manner counsel me to take up the deposit
entrusted to the earth, for I should not gain so much in the increase of my possessions, if
I take up the prize, as I should grow in justice and virtue of soul, if I abstain; and this
will be a better possession to me than the other in a better part of myself; for the
possession of justice in the soul is preferable to the possession of wealth. And of many
things it is well said—”Move not the immovables,” and this may be regarded as one of
them. And we shall do well to believe the common tradition which says that such deeds
prevent a man from having a family. Now as to him who is careless about having
children and regardless of the legislator, taking up that which neither he deposited, nor
any ancestor of his, without the consent of the depositor, violating the simplest and
noblest of laws which was the enactment of no mean man:—”Take not up that which was
not laid down by thee”—of him, I say, who despises these two legislators, and takes up,
not small matter which he has not deposited, but perhaps a great heap of treasure, what
he ought to suffer at the hands of the Gods, God only knows; but I would have the first
person who sees him go and tell the wardens of the city, if the occurrence has taken
place in the city, or if the occurrence has taken place in the agora he shall tell the
wardens of the agora, or if in the country he shall tell the wardens of the country and
their commanders. When information has been received the city shall send to Delphi,
and, whatever the God answers about the money and the remover of the money, that the
city shall do in obedience to the oracle; the informer, if he be a freeman, shall have the
honour of doing rightly, and he who informs not, the dishonour of doing wrongly; and if
he be a slave who gives information, let him be freed, as he ought to be, by the state,
which shall give his master the price of him; but if he do not inform he shall be punished
with death. Next in order shall follow a similar law, which shall apply equally to matters
great and small:—If a man happens to leave behind him some part of his property,
whether intentionally or unintentionally, let him who may come upon the left property
suffer it to remain, reflecting that such things are under the protection of the Goddess of
ways, and are dedicated to her by the law. But if any one defies the law, and takes the
property home with him, let him, if the thing is of little worth, and the man who takes it
a slave, be beaten with many stripes by him, being a person of not less than thirty years
of age. Or if he be a freeman, in addition to being thought a mean person and a despiser
of the laws, let him pay ten times the value of the treasure which he has moved to the
leaver. And if some one accuses another of having anything which belongs to him,
whether little or much, and the other admits that he has this thing, but denies that the
property in dispute belongs to other, if the property be registered with the magistrates
according to law, the claimant shall summon the possessor, who shall bring it before the
magistrates; and when it is brought into court, if it be registered in the public registers,
to which of the litigants it belonged, let him take it and go his way. Or if the property be
registered as belonging to some one who is not present, whoever will offer sufficient
surety on behalf of the absent person that he will give it up to him, shall take it away as
the representative of the other. But if the property which is deposited be not registered
with the magistrates, let it remain until the time of trial with three of the eldest of the
magistrates; and if it be an animal which is deposited, then he who loses the suit shall
pay the magistrates for its keep, and they shall determine the cause within three days.
Any one who is of sound mind may arrest his own slave, and do with him whatever he
will of such things as are lawful; and he may arrest the runaway slave of any of his
friends or kindred with a view to his safe–keeping. And if any one takes away him who is
being carried off as a slave, intending to liberate him, he who is carrying him off shall let
him go; but he who takes him away shall give three sufficient sureties; and if he give
them, and not without giving them, he may take him away, but if he take him away after
any other manner he shall be deemed guilty of violence, and being convicted shall pay as
a penalty double the amount of the damages claimed to him who has been deprived of
the slave. Any man may also carry off a freedman, if he do not pay respect or sufficient
respect to him who freed him. Now the respect shall be, that the freedman go three
times in the month to the hearth of the person who freed him and offer to do whatever
he ought, so far as he can; and he shall agree to make such a marriage as his former
master approves. He shall not be permitted to have more property than he who gave
him liberty, and what more he has shall belong to his master. The freedman shall not
remain in the state more than twenty years, but like other foreigners shall go away,
taking his entire property with him, unless he has the consent of the magistrates and of
his former master to remain. If a freedman or any other stranger has a property greater
than the census of the third class, at the expiration. of thirty days from the day on which
this comes to pass, he shall take that which is his and go his way, and in this case he
shall not be allowed to remain any longer by the magistrates. And if any one disobeys
this regulation, and is brought into court and convicted, he shall be punished with
death, his property shall be confiscated. Suits about these matters shall take place before
the tribes, unless the plaintiff and defendant have got rid of the accusation either before
their neighbours or before judges chosen by them. If a man lay claim to any animal or
anything else which he declares to be his, let the possessor refer to the seller or to some
honest and trustworthy person, who has given, or in some legitimate way made over the
property to him; if he be a citizen or a metic, sojourning in the city, within thirty days,
or, if the property have been delivered to him by a stranger, within five months, of which
the middle month shall include the summer solstice. When goods are exchanged by
selling and buying, a man shall deliver them, and receive the price of them, at a fixed
place in the agora, and have done with the matter; but he shall not buy or sell anywhere
else, nor give credit. And if in any other manner or in any other place there be an
exchange of one thing for another, and the seller give credit to the man who buys fram
him, he must do this on the understanding that the law gives no protection in cases of
things sold not in accordance with these regulations. Again, as to contributions, any
man who likes may go about collecting contributions as a friend among friends, but if
any difference arises about the collection, he is to act on the understanding that the law
gives no protection in such cases. He who sells anything above the value of fifty
drachmas shall be required to remain in the city for ten days, and the purchaser shall be
informed of the house of the seller, with a view to the sort of charges which are apt to
arise in such cases, and the restitutions which the law allows. And let legal restitution be
on this wise:—If a man sells a slave who is in a consumption, or who has the disease of
the stone, or of strangury, or epilepsy, or some other tedious and incurable disorder of
body or mind, which is not discernible to the ordinary man, if the purchaser be a
physician or trainer, he shall have no right of restitution; nor shall there be any right of
restitution if the seller has told the truth beforehand to the buyer. But if a skilled person
sells to another who is not skilled, let the buyer appeal for restitution within six months,
except in the case of epilepsy, and then the appeal may be made within a year. The cause
shall be determined by such physicians as the parties may agree to choose; and the
defendant, if he lose the suit, shall pay double the price at which he sold. If a private
person sell to another private person, he shall have the right of restitution, and the
decision shall be given as before, but the defendant, if he be cast, shall only pay back the
price of the slave. If a person sells a homicide to another, and they both know of the fact,
let there be no restitution in such a case, but if he do not know of the fact, there shall be
a right of restitution, whenever the buyer makes the discovery; and the decision shall
rest with the five youngest guardians of the law, and if the decision be that the seller was
cognisant the fact, he shall purify the house of the purchaser, according to the law of the
interpreters, and shall pay back three times the purchase–money.
If man exchanges either money for money, or anything whatever for anything else,
either with or without life, let him give and receive them genuine and unadulterated, in
accordance with the law. And let us have a prelude about all this sort of roguery, like the
preludes of our other laws. Every man should regard adulteration as of one and the
same class with falsehood and deceit, concerning which the many are too fond of saying
that at proper times and places the practice may often be right. But they leave the
occasion, and the when, and the where, undefined and unsettled, and from this want of
definiteness in their language they do a great deal of harm to themselves and to others.
Now a legislator ought not to leave the matter undetermined; he ought to prescribe
some limit, either greater or less. Let this be the rule prescribed:—No one shall call the
Gods to witness, when he says or does anything false or deceitful or dishonest, unless he
would be the most hateful of mankind to them. And he is most hateful to them takes a
false oath, and pays no heed to the Gods; and in the next degree, he who tells a
falsehood in the presence of his superiors. Now better men are the superiors of worse
men, and in general elders are the superiors of the young; wherefore also parents are the
superiors of their off spring, and men of women and children, and rulers of their
subjects; for all men ought to reverence any one who is in any position of authority, and
especially those who are in state offices. And this is the reason why I have spoken of
these matters. For every one who is guilty of adulteration in the agora tells a falsehood,
and deceives, and when he invokes the Gods, according to the customs and cautions of
the wardens of the agora, he does but swear without any respect for God or man.
Certainly, it is an excellent rule not lightly to defile the names of the Gods, after the
fashion of men in general, who care little about piety and purity in their religious
actions. But if a man will not conform to this rule, let the law be as follows:—He who
sells anything in the agora shall not ask two prices for that which he sells, but he shall
ask one price, and if he do not obtain this, he shall take away his goods; and on that day
he shall not value them either at more or less; and there shall be no praising of any
goods, or oath taken about them. If a person disobeys this command, any citizen who is
present, not being less than thirty years of age, may with impunity chastise and beat the
swearer, but if instead of obeying the laws he takes no heed, he shall be liable to the
charge of having betrayed them. If a man sells any adulterated goods and will not obey
these regulations, he who knows and can prove the fact, and does prove it in the
presence of the magistrates, if he be a slave or a metic, shall have the adulterated goods;
but if he be a citizen, and do not pursue the charge, he shall be called a rogue, and
deemed to have robbed the Gods of the agora; or if he proves the charge, he shall
dedicate the goods to the Gods of the agora. He who is proved to have sold any
adulterated goods, in addition to losing the goods themselves, shall be beaten with
stripes—a stripe for a drachma, according to the price of the goods; and the herald shall
proclaim in the agora the offence for which he is going to be beaten. The warden of the
agora and the guardians of the law shall obtain information from experienced persons
about the rogueries and adulterations of the sellers, and shall write up what the seller
ought and ought not to do in each case; and let them inscribe their laws on a column in
front of the court of the wardens of the agora, that they may be clear instructors of those
who have business in the agora. Enough has been said in what has preceded about the
wardens of the city, and if anything seems to be wanting, let them communicate with the
guardians of the law, and write down the omission, and place on a column in the court
of the wardens of the city the primary and secondary regulations which are laid down for
them about their office.
After the practices of adulteration naturally follow the practices of retail trade.
Concerning these, we will first of all give a word of counsel and reason, and the law shall
come afterwards. Retail trade in a city is not by nature intended to do any harm, but
quite the contrary; for is not he a benefactor who reduces the inequalities and
incommensurabilities of goods to equality and common measure? And this is what the
power of money accomplishes, and the merchant may be said to be appointed for this
purpose. The hireling and the tavern–keeper, and many other occupations, some of
them more and others less seemly—alike have this object;—they seek to satisfy our
needs and equalize our possessions. Let us then endeavour to see what has brought
retail trade into ill–odour, and wherein, lies the dishonour and unseemliness of it, in
order that if not entirely, we may yet partially, cure the evil by legislation. To effect this
is no easy matter, and requires a great deal of virtue.
Cleinias. What do you mean?
Athenian Stranger. Dear Cleinias, the class of men is small—they must have been rarely
gifted by nature, and trained by education—who, when assailed by wants and desires,
are able to hold out and observe moderation, and when they might make a great deal of
money are sober in their wishes, and prefer a moderate to a large gain. But the mass of
mankind are the very opposite: their desires are unbounded, and when they might gain
in moderation they prefer gains without limit; wherefore all that relates to retail trade,
and merchandise, and the keeping of taverns, is denounced and numbered among
dishonourable things. For if what I trust may never be and will not be, we were to
compel, if I may venture to say a ridiculous thing, the best men everywhere to keep
taverns for a time, or carry on retail trade, or do anything of that sort; or if, in
consequence of some fate or necessity, the best women were compelled to follow similar
callings, then we should know how agreeable and pleasant all these things are; and if all
such occupations were managed on incorrupt principles, they would be honoured as we
honour a mother or a nurse. But now that a man goes to desert places and builds bouses
which can only be reached be long journeys, for the sake of retail trade, and receives
strangers who are in need at the welcome resting–place, and gives them peace and calm
when they are tossed by the storm, or cool shade in the heat; and then instead of
behaving to them as friends, and showing the duties of hospitality to his guests, treats
them as enemies and captives who are at his mercy, and will not release them until they
have paid the most unjust, abominable, and extortionate ransom—these are the sort of
practices, and foul evils they are, which cast a reproach upon the succour of adversity.
And the legislator ought always to be devising a remedy for evils of this nature. There is
an ancient saying, which is also a true one—”To fight against two opponents is a difficult
thing,” as is seen in diseases and in many other cases. And in this case also the war is
against two enemies—wealth and poverty; one of whom corrupts the soul of man with
luxury, while the other drives him by pain into utter shamelessness. What remedy can a
city of sense find against this disease? In the first place, they must have as few retail
traders as possible; and in the second place, they must assign the occupation to that
class of men whose corruption will be the least injury to the state; and in the third place,
they must devise some way whereby the followers of these occupations themselves will
not readily fall into habits of unbridled shamelessness and meanness.
After this preface let our law run as follows, and may fortune favour us:—No landowner
among the Magnetes, whose city the God is restoring and resettling—no one, that is, of
the 5040 families, shall become a retail trader either voluntarily or involuntarily;
neither shall he be a merchant, or do any service for private persons unless they equally
serve him, except for his father or his mother, and their fathers and mothers; and in
general for his elders who are freemen, and whom he serves as a freeman. Now it is
difficult to determine accurately the things which are worthy or unworthy of a freeman,
but let those who have obtained the prize of virtue give judgment about them in
accordance with their feelings of right and wrong. He who in any way shares in the
illiberality of retail trades may be indicted for dishonouring his race by any one who
likes, before those who have been judged to be the first in virtue; and if he appear to
throw dirt upon his father’s house by an unworthy occupation, let him be imprisoned for
a year and abstain from that sort of thing; and if he repeat the offence, for two years;
and every time that he is convicted let the length of his imprisonment be doubled. This
shall be the second law:—He who engages in retail trade must be either a metic or a
stranger. And a third law shall be:—In order that the retail trader who dwells in our city
may be as good or as little bad as possible, the guardians of the law shall remember that
they are not only guardians of those who may be easily watched and prevented from
becoming lawless or bad, because they are wellborn and bred; but still more should they
have a watch over those who are of another sort, and follow pursuits which have a very
strong tendency to make men bad. And, therefore, in respect of the multifarious
occupations of retail trade, that is to say, in respect of such of them as are allowed to
remain, because they seem to be quite necessary in a state—about these the guardians of
the law should meet and take counsel with those who have experience of the several
kinds of retail trade, as we before commanded, concerning adulteration (which is a
matter akin to this), and when they meet they shall consider what amount of receipts,
after deducting expenses, will produce a moderate gain to the retail trades, and they
shall fix in writing and strictly maintain what they find to be the right percentage of
profit; this shall be seen to by the wardens of the agora, and by the wardens of the city,
and by the wardens of the country. And so retail trade will benefit every one, and do the
least possible injury to those in the state who practise it.
When a man makes an agreement which he does not fulfil, unless the agreement be of a
nature which the law or a vote of the assembly does not allow, or which he has made
under the influence of some unjust compulsion, or which he is prevented from fulfilling
against his will by some unexpected chance, the other party may go to law with him in
the courts of the tribes, for not having completed his agreement, if the parties are not
able previously to come to terms before arbiters or before their neighbours. The class of
craftsmen who have furnished human life with the arts is dedicated to Hephaestus and
Athene; and there is a class of craftsmen who preserve the works of all craftsmen by arts
of defence, the votaries of Ares and Athene, to which divinities they too are rightly
dedicated. All these continue through life serving the country and the people; some of
them are leaders in battle; others make for hire implements and works, and they ought
not to deceive in such matters, out of respect to the Gods who are their ancestors. If any
craftsman through indolence omit to execute his work in a given time, not reverencing
the God who gives him the means of life, but considering, foolish fellow, that he is his
own God and will let him off easily, in the first place, he shall suffer at the hands of the
God, and in the second place, the law shall follow in a similar spirit. He shall owe to him
who contracted with him the price of the works which he has failed in performing, and
he shall begin again and execute them gratis in the given time. When a man undertakes
a work, the law gives him the same advice which was given to the seller, that he should
not attempt to raise the price, but simply ask the value; this the law enjoins also on the
contractor; for the craftsman assuredly knows the value of his work. Wherefore, in free
states the man of art ought not to attempt to impose upon private individuals by the
help of his art, which is by nature a true thing; and he who is wronged in a matter of this
sort, shall have a right of action against the party who has wronged him. And if any one
lets out work to a craftsman, and does not pay him duly according to the lawful
agreement, disregarding Zeus the guardian of the city and Athene, who are the partners
of the state, and overthrows the foundations of society for the sake of a little gain, in his
case let the law and the Gods maintain the common bonds of the state. And let him who,
having already received the work in exchange, does not pay the price in the time agreed,
pay double the price; and if a year has elapsed, although interest is not to be taken on
loans, yet for every drachma which he owes to the contractor let him pay a monthly
interest of an obol. Suits about these matters are to be decided by the courts of the
tribes; and by the way, since we have mentioned craftsmen at all, we must not forget the
other craft of war, in which generals and tacticians are the craftsmen, who undertake
voluntarily the work of our safety, as other craftsmen undertake other public works;—if
they execute their work well the law will never tire of praising him who gives them those
honours which are the just rewards of the soldier; but if any one, having already
received the benefit of any noble service in war, does not make the due return of honour,
the law will blame him. Let this then be the law, having an ingredient of praise, not
compelling but advising the great body of the citizens to honour the brave men who are
the saviours of the whole state, whether by their courage or by their military skill;—they
should honour them, I say, in the second place; for the first and highest tribute of
respect is to be given to those who are able above other men to honour the words of
good legislators.
The greater part of the dealings between man and man have been now regulated by us
with the exception of those that relate to orphans and the supervision of orphans by
their guardians. These follow next in order, and must be regulated in some way. But to
arrive at them we must begin with the testamentary wishes of the dying and the case of
those who may have happened to die intestate. When I said, Cleinias, that we must
regulate them, I had in my mind the difficulty and perplexity in which all such matters
are involved. You cannot leave them unregulated, for individuals would make
regulations at variance with one another, and repugnant to the laws and habits of the
living and to their own previous habits, if a person were simply allowed to make any will
which he pleased, and this were to take effect in whatever state he may have been at the
end of his life; for most of us lose our senses in a manner, and feel crushed when we
think that we are about to die.
Cleinias. What do you mean, Stranger?
Athenian. O Cleinias, a man when he is about to die is an intractable creature, and is apt
to use language which causes a great deal of anxiety and trouble to the legislator.
Cleinias. In what way?
Athenian. He wants to have the entire control of all his property, and will use angry
words.
Cleinias. Such as what?
Athenian. O ye Gods, he will say, how monstrous that I am not allowed to give, or not to
give my own to whom I will—less to him who has been bad to me, and more to him who
has been good to me, and whose badness and goodness have been tested by me in time
of sickness or in old age and in every other sort of fortune!
Cleinias. Well Stranger, and may he not very fairly say so?
Athenian. In my opinion, Cleinias, the ancient legislators were too good–natured, and
made laws without sufficient observation or consideration of human things.
Cleinias. What do you mean?
Athenian. I mean, my friend that they were afraid of the testator’s reproaches, and so
they passed a law to the effect that a man should be allowed to dispose of his property in
all respects as he liked; but you and I, if I am not mistaken, will have something better to
say to our departing citizens.
Cleinias. What?
Athenian. O my friends, we will say to them, hard is it for you, who are creatures of a
day, to know what is yours—hard too, as the Delphic oracle says, to know yourselves at
this hour. Now I, as the legislator, regard you and your possessions, not as belonging to
yourselves, but as belonging to your whole family, both past and future, and yet more do
regard both family and possessions as belonging to the state; wherefore, if some one
steals upon you with flattery, when you are tossed on the sea of disease or old age, and
persuades you to dispose of your property in a way that is not for the best, I will not, if I
can help, allow this; but I will legislate with a view to the whole, considering what is best
both for the state and for the family, esteeming as I ought the feelings of an individual at
a lower rate; and I hope that you will depart in peace and kindness towards us, as you
are going the way of all mankind; and we will impartially take care of all your concerns,
not neglecting any of them, if we can possibly help. Let this be our prelude and
consolation to the living and dying, Cleinias, and let the law be as follows:
He who makes a disposition in a testament, if he be the father of a family, shall first of
all inscribe as his heir any one of his sons whom he may think fit; and if he gives any of
his children to be adopted by another citizen, let the adoption be inscribed. And if he has
a son remaining over and above who has not been adopted upon any lot, and who may
be expected to be sent out to a colony according to law, to him his father may give as
much as he pleases of the rest of his property, with the exception of the paternal lot and
the fixtures on the lot. And if there are other sons, let him distribute among them what
there is more than the lot in such portions as he pleases. And if one of the sons has
already a house of his own, he shall not give him of the money, nor shall he give money
to a daughter who has been betrothed, but if she is not betrothed he may give her
money. And if any of the sons or daughters shall be found to have another lot of land in
the country, which has accrued after the testament has been made, they shall leave the
lot which they have inherited to the heir of the man who has made the will. If the
testator has no sons, but only daughters, let him choose the husband of any one of his
daughters whom he pleases, and leave and inscribe him as his son and heir. And if a
man have lost his son, when he was a child, and before he could be reckoned among
grown–up men, whether his own or an adopted son, let the testator make mention of
the circumstance and inscribe whom he will to be his second son in hope of better
fortune. If the testator has no children at all, he may select and give to any one whom he
pleases the tenth part of the property which he has acquired; but let him not be blamed
if he gives all the rest to his adopted son, and makes a friend of him according to the law.
If the sons of a man require guardians, and: the father when he dies leaves a will
appointing guardians, those have been named by him, whoever they are and whatever
their number be, if they are able and willing to take charge of the children, shall be
recognized according to the provisions of the will. But if he dies and has made no will, or
a will in which he has appointed no guardians, then the next of kin, two on the father’s
and two on the mother’s side, and one of the friends of the deceased, shall have the
authority of guardians, whom the guardians of the law shall appoint when the orphans
require guardians. And the fifteen eldest guardians of the law shall have the whole care
and charge of the orphans, divided into threes according to seniority—a body of three
for one year, and then another body of three for the next year, until the cycle of the five
periods is complete; and this, as far as possible, is to continue always. If a man dies,
having made no will at all, and leaves sons who require the care of guardians, they shall
share in the protection which is afforded by these laws.
And if a man dying by some unexpected fate leaves daughters behind him, let him
pardon the legislator if he gives them in marriage, he have a regard only to two out of
three conditions—nearness of kin and the preservation of the lot, and omits the third
condition, which a father would naturally consider, for he would choose out of all the
citizens a son for himself, and a husband for his daughter, with a view to his character
and disposition—the father, say, shall forgive the legislator if he disregards this, which to
him is an impossible consideration. Let the law about these matters where practicable
be as follows:—If a man dies without making a will, and leaves behind him daughters, let
his brother, being the son of the same father or of the same mother, having no lot, marry
the daughter and have the lot of the dead man. And if he have no brother, but only a
brother’s son, in like manner let them marry, if they be of a suitable age; and if there be
not even a brother’s son, but only the son of a sister, let them do likewise, and so in the
fourth degree, if there be only the testator’s father’s brother, or in the fifth degree, his
father’s brother’s son, or in the sixth degree, the child of his father’s sister. Let kindred
be always reckoned in this way: if a person leaves daughters the relationship shall
proceed upwards through brothers and sisters, and brothers’ and sisters’ children, and
first the males shall come, and after them the females in the same family. The judge
shall consider and determine the suitableness or unsuitableness of age in marriage; he
shall make an inspection of the males naked, and of the women naked down to the
navel. And if there be a lack of kinsmen in a family extending to grandchildren of a
brother, or to the grandchildren of a grandfather’s children, the maiden may choose
with the consent of her guardians any one of the citizens who is willing and whom she
wills, and he shall be the heir of the dead man, and the husband of his daughter.
Circumstances vary, and there may sometimes be a still greater lack of relations within
the limits of the state; and if any maiden has no kindred living in the city, and there is
some one who has been sent out to a colony, and she is disposed to make him the heir of
her father’s possessions, if he be indeed of her kindred, let him proceed to take the lot
according to the regulation of the law; but if he be not of her kindred, she having no
kinsmen within the city, and he be chosen by the daughter of the dead man, and
empowered to marry by the guardians, let him return home and take the lot of him who
died intestate. And if a man has no children, either male or female, and dies without
making a will, let the previous law in general hold; and let a man and a woman go forth
from the family and share the deserted house, and let the lot belong absolutely to them;
and let the heiress in the first degree be a sister, and in a second degree a daughter of a
brother, and in the third, a daughter of a sister, in the fourth degree the sister of a
father, and in the fifth degree the daughter of a father’s brother, and in a sixth degree of
a father’s sister; and these shall dwell with their male kinsmen, according to the degree
of relationship and right, as we enacted before. Now we must not conceal from ourselves
that such laws are apt to be oppressive and that there may sometimes be a hardship in
the lawgiver commanding the kinsman of the dead man to marry his relation; be may be
thought not to have considered the innumerable hindrances which may arise among
men in the execution of such ordinances; for there may be cases in which the parties
refuse to obey, and are ready to do anything rather than marry, when there is some
bodily or mental malady or defect among those who are bidden to marry or be married.
Persons may fancy that the legislator never thought of this, but they are mistaken;
wherefore let us make a common prelude on behalf of the lawgiver and of his subjects,
the law begging the latter to forgive the legislator, in that he, having to take care of the
common weal, cannot order at the same time the various circumstances of individuals,
and begging him to pardon them if naturally they are sometimes unable to fulfil the act
which he in his ignorance imposes upon them.
Cleinias. And how, Stranger, can we act most fairly under the circumstances?
Athenian. There must be arbiters chosen to deal with such laws and the subjects of
them.
Cleinias. What do you mean?
Athenian. I mean to say, that a case may occur in which the nephew, having a rich
father, will be unwilling to marry the daughter of his uncle; he will have a feeling of
pride, and he will wish to look higher. And there are cases in which the legislator will be
imposing upon him the greatest calamity, and he will be compelled to disobey the law, if
he is required, for example, to take a wife who is mad, or has some other terrible malady
of soul or body, such as makes life intolerable to the sufferer. Then let what we are
saying concerning these cases be embodied in a law:—If any one finds fault with the
established laws respecting testaments, both as to other matters and especially in what
relates to marriage, and asserts that the legislator, if he were alive and present, would
not compel him to obey—that is to say, would not compel those who are by our law
required to marry or be given in marriage, to do either—and some kinsman or guardian
dispute this, the reply is that the legislator left fifteen of the guardians of the law to be
arbiters and fathers of orphans, male or female, and to them let the disputants have
recourse, and by their aid determine any matters of the kind, admitting their decision to
be final. But if any one thinks that too great power is thus given to the guardians of the
law, let him bring his adversaries into the court of the select judges, and there have the
points in dispute determined. And he who loses the cause shall have censure and blame
from the legislator, which, by a man of sense, is felt to be a penalty far heavier than a
great loss of money.
Thus will orphan children have a second birth. After their first birth we spoke of their
nurture and education, and after their second birth, when they have lost their parents,
we ought to take measures that the misfortune of orphanhood may be as little sad to
them as possible. In the first place, we say that the guardians of the law are lawgivers
and fathers to them, not inferior to their natural fathers. Moreover, they shall take
charge of them year by year as of their own kindred; and we have given both to them
and to the children’s own guardians a suitable admonition concerning the nurture of
orphans. And we seem to have spoken opportunely in our former discourse, when we
said that the souls of the dead have the power after death of taking an interest in human
affairs, about which there are many tales and traditions, long indeed, but true; and
seeing that they are so many and so ancient, we must believe them, and we must also
believe the lawgivers, who tell us that these things are true, if they are not to be regarded
as utter fools. But if these things are really so, in the first place men should have a fear of
the Gods above, who regard the loneliness of the orphans; and in the second place of the
souls of the departed, who by nature incline to take an especial care of their own
children, and are friendly to those who honour, and unfriendly to those who dishonour
them. Men should also fear the souls of the living who are aged and high in honour;
wherever a city is well ordered and prosperous, their descendants cherish them, and so
live happily; old persons are quick to see and hear all that relates to them, and are
propitious to those who are just in the fulfilment of such duties, and they punish those
who wrong the orphan and the desolate, considering that they are the greatest and most
sacred of trusts. To all which matters the guardian and magistrate ought to apply his
mind, if he has any, and take heed of the nurture and education of the orphans, seeking
in every possible way to do them good, for he is making a contribution to his own good
and that of his children. He who obeys the tale which precedes the law, and does no
wrong to an orphan, will never experience the wrath of the legislator. But he who is
disobedient, and wrongs any one who is bereft of father or mother, shall pay twice the
penalty which he would have paid if he had wronged one whose parents had been alive.
As touching other legislation concerning guardians in their relation to orphans, or
concerning magistrates and their superintendence of the guardians, if they did not
possess examples of the manner in which children of freemen should be brought up in
the bringing up of their own children, and of the care of their property in the care of
their own, or if they had not just laws fairly stated about these very things—there would
have been reason in making laws for them, under the idea that they were a peculiar–
class, and we might distinguish and make separate rules for the life of those who are
orphans and of those who are not orphans. But as the case stands, the condition of
orphans with us not different from the case of those who have father, though in regard
to honour and dishonour, and the attention given to them, the two are not usually
placed upon a level. Wherefore, touching the legislation about orphans, the law speaks
in serious accents, both of persuasion and threatening, and such a threat as the
following will be by no means out of place:—He who is the guardian of an orphan of
either sex, and he among the guardians of the law to whom the superintendence of this
guardian has been assigned, shall love the unfortunate orphan as though he were his
own child, and he shall be as careful and diligent in the management of his possessions
as he would be if they were his own, or even more careful and dilligent. Let every one
who has the care of an orphan observe this law. But any one who acts contrary to the law
on these matters, if he be a guardian of the child, may be fined by a magistrate, or, if he
be himself a magistrate, the guardian may bring him before the court of select judges,
and punish him, if convicted, by exacting a fine of double the amount of that inflicted by
the court. And if a guardian appears to the relations of the orphan, or to any other
citizen, to act negligently or dishonestly, let them bring him before the same court, and
whatever damages are given against him, let him pay fourfold, and let half belong to the
orphan and half to him who procured the conviction. If any orphan arrives at years of
discretion, and thinks that he has been ill–used by his guardians, let him within five
years of the expiration of the guardianship be allowed to bring them to trial; and if any
of them be convicted, the court shall determine what he shall pay or suffer. And if
magistrate shall appear to have wronged the orphan by neglect, and he be convicted, let
the court determine what he shall suffer or pay to the orphan, and if there be dishonesty
in addition to neglect, besides paying the fine, let him be deposed from his office of
guardian of the law, and let the state appoint another guardian of the law for the city
and for the country in his room.
Greater differences than there ought to be sometimes arise between fathers and sons, on
the part either of fathers who will be of opinion that the legislator should enact that they
may, if they wish, lawfully renounce their son by the proclamation of a herald in the face
of the world, or of sons who think that they should be allowed to indict their fathers on
the charge of imbecility when they are disabled by disease or old age. These things only
happen, as a matter of fact, where the natures of men are utterly bad; for where only half
is bad, as, for example, if the father be not bad, but the son be bad, or conversely, no
great calamity is the result of such an amount of hatred as this. In another state, a son
disowned by his father would not of necessity cease to be a citizen, but in our state, of
which these are to be the laws, the disinherited must necessarily emigrate into another
country, for no addition can be made even of a single family to the 5040 households;
and, therefore, he who deserves to suffer these things must be renounced not only by his
father, who is a single person, but by the whole family, and what is done in these cases
must be regulated by some such law as the following:—He who in the sad disorder of his
soul has a mind, justly or unjustly, to expel from his family a son whom he has begotten
and brought up, shall not lightly or at once execute his purpose; but first of all he shall
collect together his own kinsmen extending to cousins, and in like manner his son’s
kinsmen by the mother’s side, and in their presence he shall accuse his son, setting forth
that he deserves at the hands of them all to be dismissed from the family; and the son
shall be allowed to address them in a similar manner, and show that he does not deserve
to suffer any of these things. And if the father persuades them, and obtains the suffrages
of more than half of his kindred, exclusive of the father and mother and the offender
himself—I say, if he obtains more than half the suffrages of all the other grown–up
members of the family, of both sexes, the father shall be permitted to put away his son,
but not otherwise. And if any other citizen is willing to adopt the son who is put away, no
law shall hinder him; for the characters of young men are subject to many changes in
the course of their lives. And if he has been put away, and in a period of ten years no one
is willing to adopt him, let those who have the care of the superabundant population
which is sent out into colonies, see to him, in order that he may be suitably provided for
in the colony. And if disease or age or harshness of temper, or all these together, makes
a man to be more out of his mind than the rest of the world are—but this is not
observable, except to those who live with him—and he, being master of his property, is
the ruin of the house, and his son doubts and hesitates about indicting his father for
insanity, let the law in that case or, that he shall first of all go to the eldest guardians of
the law and tell them of his father’s misfortune, and they shall duly look into the matter,
and take counsel as to whether he shall indict him or not. And if they advise him to
proceed, they shall be both his witnesses and his advocates; and if the father is cast, he
shall henceforth be incapable of ordering the least particular of his life; let him be as a
child dwelling in the house for the remainder of his days. And if a man and his wife have
an unfortunate incompatibility of temper, ten of the guardians of the law, who are
impartial, and ten of the women who regulate marriages, shall look to the matter, and if
they are able to reconcile them they shall be formally reconciled; but if their souls are
too much tossed with passion, they shall endeavour to find other partners. Now they are
not likely to have very gentle tempers; and, therefore, we must endeavour to associate
with them deeper and softer natures. Those who have no children, or only a few, at the
time of their separation, should choose their new partners with a view to the procreation
of children; but those who have a sufficient number of children should separate and
marry again in order that they may have some one to grow old with and that the pair
may take care of one another in age. If a woman dies, leaving children, male or female,
the law will advise rather than compel the husband to bring up the children without
introducing into the house a stepmother. But if he have no children, then he shall be
compelled to marry until he has begotten a sufficient number of sons to his family and
to the state. And if a man dies leaving a sufficient number of children, the mother of his
children shall remain with them and bring, them up. But if she appears to be too young
to live virtuously without a husband, let her relations communicate with the women who
superintend marriage, and let both together do what they think best in these matters; if
there is a lack of children, let the choice be made with a view to having them; two
children, one of either sex, shall be deemed sufficient in the eye of the law. When a child
is admitted to be the offspring of certain parents and is acknowledged by them, but
there is need of a decision as to which parent the child is to follow—in case a female
slave have intercourse with a male slave, or with a freeman or freedman, the offspring
shall always belong to the master of the female slave. Again, if a free woman have
intercourse with a male slave, the offspring shall belong to the master of the slave; but if
a child be born either of a slave by her master, or of his mistress by a slave—and this be
provence offspring of the woman and its father shall be sent away by the women who
superintend marriage into another country, and the guardians of the law shall send
away the offspring of the man and its mother.
Neither God, nor a man who has understanding, will ever advise any one to neglect his
parents. To a discourse concerning the honour and dishonour of parents, a prelude such
as the following, about the service of the Gods, will be a suitable introduction:—There
are ancient customs about the Gods which are universal, and they are of two kinds:
some of the Gods we see with our eyes and we honour them, of others we honour the
images, raising statues of them which we adore; and though they are lifeless, yet we
imagine that the living Gods have a good will and gratitude to us on this account. Now, if
a man has a father or mother, or their fathers or mothers treasured up in his house
stricken in years, let him consider that no statue can be more potent to grant his
requests than they are, who are sitting at his hearth if only he knows how to show true
service to them.
Cleinias. And what do you call the true mode of service?
Athenian. I will tell you, O my friend, for such things are worth listening to.
Cleinias. Proceed.
Athenian. Oedipus, as tradition says, when dishonoured by his sons, invoked on them
curses which every one declares to have been heard and ratified by the Gods, and
Amyntor in his wrath invoked curses on his son Phoenix, and Theseus upon Hippolytus,
and innumerable others have also called down wrath upon their children, whence it is
clear that the Gods listen to the imprecations of parents; for the curses of parents are, as
they ought to be, mighty against their children as no others are. And shall we suppose
that the prayers of a father or mother who is specially dishonoured by his or her
children, are heard by the Gods in accordance with nature; and that if a parent is
honoured by them, and in the gladness of his heart earnestly entreats the Gods in his
prayers to do them good, he is not equally heard, and that they do not minister to his
request? If not, they would be very unjust ministers of good, and that we affirm to be
contrary to their nature.
Cleinias. Certainly.
Athenian. May we not think, as I was saying just now, that we can possess no image
which is more honoured by the Gods, than that of a father or grandfather, or of a mother
stricken in years? whom when a man honours, the heart of the God rejoices, and he is
ready to answer their prayers. And, truly, the figure of an ancestor is a wonderful thing,
far higher than that of a lifeless image. For the living, when they are honoured by us,
join in our prayers, and when they are dishonoured, they utter imprecations against us;
but lifeless objects do neither. And therefore, if a man makes a right use of his father
and grandfather and other aged relations, he will have images which above all others
will win him the favour of the Gods.
Cleinias. Excellent.
Athenian. Every man of any understanding fears and respects the prayers of parents,
knowing well that many times and to many persons they have been accomplished. Now
these things being thus ordered by nature, good men think it a blessing from heaven if
their parents live to old age and reach the utmost limit of human life, or if taken away
before their time they are deeply regretted by them; but to bad men parents are always a
cause of terror. Wherefore let every man honour with every sort of lawful honour his
own parents, agreeably to what has now been said. But if this prelude be an unmeaning
sound in the cars of any one, let the law follow, which may be rightly imposed in these
terms:—If any one in this city be not sufficiently careful of his parents, and do not regard
and gratify in every respect their wishes more than those of his sons and of his other
offspring or of himself—let him who experiences this sort of treatment either come
himself, or send some one to inform the three eldest guardians of the law, and three of
the women who have the care of marriages; and let them look to the matter and punish
youthful evil–doers with stripes and bonds if they are under thirty years of age, that is to
say, if they be men, or if they be women, let them undergo the same punishment up to
forty years of age. But if, when they are still more advanced in years, they continue the
same neglect of their parents, and do any hurt to any of them, let them be brought
before a court in which every single one of the eldest citizens shall be the judges, and if
the offender be convicted, let the court determine what he ought to pay or suffer, and
any penalty may be imposed on him which a man can pay or suffer. If the person who
has been wronged be unable to inform the magistrates, let any freeman who hears of his
case inform, and if he do not, he shall be deemed base, and shall be liable to have a suit
for damage brought against him by any one who likes. And if a slave inform, he shall
receive freedom; and if he be the slave of the injurer or injured party, he shall be set free
by the magistrates, or if he belong to any other citizen, the public shall pay a price on his
behalf to the owner; and let the magistrates take heed that no one wrongs him out of
revenge, because he has given information.
Cases in which one man injures another by poisons, and which prove fatal, have been
already discussed; but about other cases in which a person intentionally and of malice
harms another with meats, or drinks, or ointments, nothing has as yet been determined.
For there are two kinds of poisons used among men, which cannot clearly be
distinguished. There is the kind just now explicitly mentioned, which injures bodies by
the use of other bodies according to a natural law; there is also another kind which
persuades the more daring class that they can do injury by sorceries, and incantations,
and magic knots, as they are termed, and makes others believe that they above all
persons are injured by the powers of the magician. Now it is not easy to know the nature
of all these things; nor if a man do know can he readily persuade others to believe him.
And when men are disturbed in their minds at the sight of waxen images fixed either at
their doors, or in a place where three ways meet, or on the sepulchres of parents, there is
no use in trying to persuade them that they should despise all such things because they
have no certain knowledge about them. But we must have a law in two parts, concerning
poisoning, in whichever of the two ways the attempt is made, and we must entreat, and
exhort, and advise men not to have recourse to such practices, by which they scare the
multitude out of their wits, as if they were children, compelling the legislator and the
judge to heal the fears which the sorcerer arouses, and to tell them in the first place, that
he who attempts to poison or enchant others knows not what he is doing, either as
regards the body (unless he has a knowledge of medicine), or as regards his
enchantments (unless he happens to be a prophet or diviner). Let the law, then, run as
follows about poisoning or witchcraft:—He who employs poison to do any injury, not
fatal, to a man himself, or to his servants, or any injury, whether fatal or not, to his cattle
or his bees, if he be a physician, and be convicted of poisoning, shall be punished with
death; or if he be a private person, the court shall determine what he is to pay or suffer.
But he who seems to be the sort of man injures others by magic knots, or enchantments,
or incantations, or any of the like practices, if he be a prophet or diviner, let him die; and
if, not being a prophet, he be convicted of witchcraft, as in the previous case, let the
court fix what he ought to pay or suffer.
When a man does another any injury by theft or violence, for the greater injury let him
pay greater damages to the injured man, and less for the smaller injury; but in all cases,
whatever the injury may have been, as much as will compensate the loss. And besides
the compensation of the wrong, let a man pay a further penalty for the chastisement of
his offence: he who has done the wrong instigated by the folly of another, through the
lightheartedness of youth or the like, shall pay a lighter penalty; but he who has injured
another through his own folly, when overcome by pleasure or pain, in cowardly fear, or
lust, or envy, or implacable anger, shall endure a heavier punishment. Not that he is
punished because he did wrong, for that which is done can never be undone, but in
order that in future times, he, and those who see him corrected, may utterly hate
injustice, or at any rate abate much of their evil–doing. Having an eye to all these things,
the law, like a good archer, should aim at the right measure of punishment, and in all
cases at the deserved punishment. In the attainment of this the judge shall be a fellow–
worker with the legislator, whenever the law leaves to him to determine what the
offender shall suffer or pay; and the legislator, like a painter, shall give a rough sketch of
the cases in which the law is to be applied. This is what we must do, Megillus and
Cleinias, in the best and fairest manner that we can, saying what the punishments are to
be of all actions of theft and violence, and giving laws of such a kind as the Gods and
sons of Gods would have us give.
If a man is mad he shall not be at large in the city, but his relations shall keep him at
home in any way which they can; or if not, let them pay a penalty—he who is of the
highest class shall pay a penalty of one hundred drachmae, whether he be a slave or a
freeman whom he neglects; and he of the second class shall pay four–fifths of a mina;
and he of the third class three–fifths; and he of the fourth class two–fifths. Now there
are many sorts of madness, some arising out of disease, which we have already
mentioned; and there are other kinds, which originate in an evil and passionate
temperament, and are increased by bad education; out of a slight quarrel this class of
madmen will often raise a storm of abuse against one another, and nothing of that sort
ought to be allowed to occur in a well–ordered state. Let this, then, be the law about
abuse, which shall relate to all cases:—No one shall speak evil of another; and when a
man disputes with another he shall teach and learn of the disputant and the company,
but he shall abstain from evilspeaking; for out of the imprecations which men utter
against one another, and the feminine habit of casting aspersions on one another, and
using foul names, out of words light as air, in very deed the greatest enmities and
hatreds spring up. For the speaker gratifies his anger, which is an ungracious element of
his nature; and nursing up his wrath by the entertainment of evil thoughts, and
exacerbating that part of his soul which was formerly civilized by education, he lives in a
state of savageness and moroseness, and pays a bitter penalty for his anger. And in such
cases almost all men take to saying something ridiculous about their opponent, and
there is no man who is in the habit of laughing at another who does not miss virtue and
earnestness altogether, or lose the better half of greatness. Wherefore let no one utter
any taunting word at a temple, or at the public sacrifices, or at games, or in the agora, or
in a court of justice, or in any public assembly. And let the magistrate who presides on
these occasions chastise an offender, and he shall be blameless; but if he fails in doing
so, he shall not claim the prize of virtue; for he is one who heeds not the laws, and does
not do what the legislator commands. And if in any other place any one indulges in these
sort of revilings, whether he has begun the quarrel or is only retaliating, let any elder
who is present support the law, and control with blows those who indulge in passion,
which is another great evil; and if he do not, let him be liable to pay the appointed
penalty. And we say now, that he who deals in reproaches against others cannot
reproach them without attempting to ridicule them; and this, when done in a moment of
anger, is what we make matter of reproach against him. But then, do we admit into our
state the comic writers who are so fond of making mankind ridiculous, if they attempt in
a good–natured manner to turn the laugh against our citizens? or do we draw the
distinction of jest and earnest, and allow a man to make use of ridicule in jest and
without anger about any thing or person; though as we were saying, not if he be angry
have a set purpose? We forbid earnest—that is unalterably fixed; but we have still to say
who are to be sanctioned or not to be sanctioned by the law in the employment of
innocent humour. A comic poet, or maker of iambic or satirical lyric verse, shall not be
permitted to ridicule any of the citizens, either by word or likeness, either in anger or
without anger. And if any one is disobedient, the judges shall either at once expel him
from the country, or he shall pay a fine of three minae, which shall be dedicated to the
God who presides over the contests. Those only who have received permission shall be
allowed to write verses at one another, but they shall be without anger and in jest; in
anger and in serious earnest they shall not be allowed. The decision of this matter shall
be left to the superintendent of the general education of the young, and whatever he may
license, the writer shall be allowed to produce, and whatever he rejects let not the poet
himself exhibit, or ever teach anybody else, slave or freeman, under the penalty of being
dishonoured, and held disobedient to the laws.
Now he is not to be pitied who is hungry, or who suffers any bodily pain, but he who is
temperate, or has some other virtue, or part of a virtue, and at the same time suffers
from misfortune; it would be an extraordinary thing if such an one, whether slave or
freeman, were utterly forsaken and fell into the extremes of poverty in any tolerably
well–ordered city or government. Wherefore the legislator may safely make a law
applicable to such cases in the following terms:—Let there be no beggars in our state;
and if anybody begs, seeking to pick up a livelihood by unavailing prayers, let the
wardens of the agora turn him out of the agora, and the wardens of the city out of the
city, and the wardens of the country send him out of any other parts of the land across
the border, in order that the land may be cleared of this sort of animal.
If a slave of either sex injure anything, which is not his or her own, through
inexperience, or some improper practice, and the person who suffers damage be not
himself in part to blame, the master of the slave who has done the harm shall either
make full satisfaction, or give up the the slave who has done has done the injury. But if
master argue that the charge has arisen by collusion between the injured party and the
injurer, with the view of obtaining the slave, let him sue the person, who says that he has
been injured, for malpractices. And if he gain a conviction, let him receive double the
value which the court fixes as the price of the slave; and if he lose his suit, let him make
amends for the injury, and give up the slave. And if a beast of burden, or horse, or dog,
or any other animal, injure the property of a neighbour, the owner shall in like manner
pay for the injury.
If any man refuses to be a witness, he who wants him shall summon him, and he who is
summoned shall come to the trial; and if he knows and is willing to bear witness, let him
bear witness, but if he says he does not know let him swear by the three divinities Zeus,
and Apollo, and Themis, that he does not, and have no more to do with the cause. And
he who is summoned to give witness and does not answer to his summoner, shall be
liable for the harm which ensues according to law. And if a person calls up as a witness
any one who is acting as a judge, let him give his witness, but he shall not afterwards
vote in the cause. A free woman may give her witness and plead, if she be more than
forty years of age, and may bring an action if she have no husband; but if her husband
be alive she shall only be allowed to bear witness. A slave of either sex and a child shall
be allowed to give evidence and to plead, but only in cases of murder; and they must
produce sufficient sureties that they will certainly remain until the trial, in case they
should be charged with false witness. And either of the parties in a cause may bring an
accusation of perjury against witnesses, touching their evidence in whole or in part, if he
asserts that such evidence has been given; but the accusation must be brought previous
to the final decision of the cause. The magistrates shall preserve the accusations of false
witness, and have them kept under the seal of both parties, and produce them on the
day when the trial for false witness takes place. If a man be twice convicted of false
witness, he shall not be required, and if thrice, he shall not be allowed to bear witness;
and if he dare to witness after he has been convicted three times, let any one who pleases
inform against him to the magistrates, and let the magistrates hand him over to the
court, and if he be convicted he shall be punished with death. And in any case in which
the evidence is rightly found to be false, and yet to have given the victory to him who
wins the suit, and more than half the witnesses are condemned, the decision which was
gained by these means shall be a discussion and a decision as to whether the suit was
determined by that false evidence or and in whichever way the decision may be given,
the previous suit shall be determined accordingly.
There are many noble things in human life, but to most of them attach evils which are
fated to corrupt and spoil them. Is not justice noble, which has been the civilizer of
humanity? How then can the advocate of justice be other than noble? And yet upon this
profession which is presented to us under the fair name of art has come an evil
reputation. In the first place; we are told that by ingenious pleas and the help of an
advocate the law enables a man to win a particular cause, whether just or unjust; and
the power of speech which is thereby imparted, are at the service of him sho is willing to
pay for them. Now in our state this so–called art, whether really an art or only an
experience and practice destitute of any art, ought if possible never to come into
existence, or if existing among us should litten to the request of the legislator and go
away into another land, and not speak contrary to justice. If the offenders obey we say
no more; but those who disobey, the voice of the law is as follows:—If anyone thinks that
he will pervert the power of justice in the minds of the judges, and unseasonably litigate
or advocate, let any one who likes indict him for malpractices of law and dishonest
advocacy, and let him be judged in the court of select judges; and if he be convicted, let
the court determine whether he may be supposed to act from a love of money or from
contentiousness. And if he is supposed to act from contentiousness, the court shall fix a
time during which he shall not be allowed to institute or plead a cause; and if he is
supposed to act as be does from love of money, in case he be a stranger, he shall leave
the country, and never return under penalty of death; but if he be a citizen, he shall die,
because he is a lover of money, in whatever manner gained; and equally, if he be judged
to have acted more than once from contentiousness, he shall die.
BOOK XII
If a herald or an ambassador carry a false message from our city to any other, or bring
back a false message from the city to which he is sent, or be proved to have brought
back, whether from friends or enemies, in his capacity of herald or ambassador, what
they have never said, let him be indicted for having violated, contrary to the law, the
commands and duties imposed upon him by Hermes and Zeus, and let there be a
penalty fixed, which he shall suffer or pay if he be convicted.
Theft is a mean, and robbery a shameless thing; and none of the sons of Zeus delight in
fraud and violence, or ever practised, either. Wherefore let no one be deluded by poets
or mythologers into a mistaken belief of such such things, nor let him suppose, when he
thieves or is guilty of violence, that he is doing nothing base, but only what the Gods
themselves do. For such tales are untrue and improbable; and he who steals or robs
contrary to the law, is never either a God or the son of a God; of this the legislator ought
to be better informed than all the, poets put together. Happy is he and may he be forever
happy, who is persuaded and listens to our words; but he who disobeys shall have to
contend against the following law:—If a man steal anything belonging to the public,
whether that which he steals be much or little, he shall have the same punishment. For
he who steals a little steals with the same wish as he who steals much, but with less
power, and he who takes up a greater amount; not having deposited it, is wholly unjust.
Wherefore the law is not disposed to inflict a less penalty on the one than on the other
because his theft, is less, but on the ground that the thief may possibly be in one case
still curable, and may in another case be incurable. If any one convict in a court of law a
stranger or a slave of a theft of public property, let the court determine what
punishment he shall suffer, or what penalty he shall pay, bearing in mind that he is
probably not incurable. But the citizen who has been brought up as our citizens will have
been, if he be found guilty of robbing his country by fraud or violence, whether he be
caught in the act or not, shall be punished with death; for he is incurable.
Now for expeditions of war much consideration and many laws are required; the great
principle of all is that no one of either sex should be without a commander; nor should
the mind of any one be accustomed to do anything, either in jest or earnest, of his own
motion, but in war and in peace he should look to and follow his leader, even in the least
things being under his guidance; for example, he should stand or move, or exercise, or
wash, or take his meals, or get up in the night to keep guard and deliver messages when
he is bidden; and in the hour of danger he should not pursue and not retreat except by
order of his superior; and in a word, not teach the soul or accustom her to know or
understand how to do anything apart from others. Of all soldiers the life should be
always and in all things as far as possible in common and together; there neither is nor
ever will be a higher, or better, or more scientific principle than this for the attainment
of salvation and victory in war. And we ought in time of peace from youth upwards to
practise this habit of commanding others, and of being commanded by others; anarchy
should have no place in the life of man or of the beasts who are subject to man. I may
add that all dances ought to be performed with view to military excellence; and agility
and ease should be cultivated for the same object, and also endurance of the want of
meats and drinks, and of winter cold and summer heat, and of hard couches; and, above
all, care should be taken not to destroy the peculiar qualities of the head and the feet by
surrounding them with extraneous coverings, and so hindering their natural growth of
hair and soles. For these are the extremities, and of all the parts of the body, whether
they are preserved or not is of the greatest consequence; the one is the servant of the
whole body, and the other the master, in whom all the ruling senses are by nature set.
Let the young man imagine that he hears in what has preceded the praises of the
military life; the law shall be as follows:—He shall serve in war who is on the roll or
appointed to some special service, and if any one is absent from cowardice, and without
the leave of the generals; he shall be indicted before the military commanders for failure
of service when the army comes home; and the soldiers shall be his judges; the heavy
armed, and the cavalry, and the other arms of the service shall form separate courts; and
they shall bring the heavy–armed before the heavy–armed, and the horsemen before the
horsemen, and the others in like manner before their peers; and he who is found guilty
shall never be allowed to compete for any prize of valour, or indict another for not
serving on an expedition, or be an accuser at all in any military matters. Moreover, the
court shall further determine what punishment he shall suffer, or what penalty he shall
pay. When the suits for failure of service are completed, the leaders of the several kinds
of troops shall again hold an assembly, and they shall adjudge the prizes of valour; and
he who likes shall give judgment in his own branch of the service, saying nothing about
any former expedition, nor producing any proof or witnesses to confirm his statement,
but speaking only of the present occasion. The crown of victory shall be an olive wreath
which the victor shall offer up the temple of any war–god whom he likes, adding an
inscription for a testimony to last during life, that such an one has received the first, the
second, or prize. If any one goes on an expedition, and returns home before the
appointed time, when the generals. have not withdrawn the army, be shall be indicted
for desertion before the same persons who took cognisance of failure of service, and if he
be found guilty, the same punishment shall be inflicted on him.
Now every man who is engaged in any suit ought to be very careful of bringing false
witness against any one, either intentionally or unintentionally, if he can help; for justice
is truly said to be an honourable maiden, and falsehood is naturally repugnant to
honour and justice. A witness ought to be very careful not to sift against justice, as for
example in what relates to the throwing away of arms—he must distinguish the throwing
them away when necessary, and not make that a reproach, or bring in action against
some innocent person on that account. To make the distinction maybe difficult; but still
the law must attempt to define the different kinds in some way. Let me endeavour to
explain my meaning by an ancient tale:—If Patroclus had been brought to the tent still
alive but without his arms (and this has happened to innumerable persons), the original
arms, which the poet says were presented to Peleus by the Gods as a nuptial gift when he
married. Thetis, remaining in the hands of Hector, then the base spirits of that day
might have reproached the son of Menoetius with having cast away his arms. Again,
there is the case of those who have been thrown down precipices and lost their arms;
and of those who at sea, and in stormy places, have been suddenly overwhelmed by
floods of water; and there are numberless things of this kind which one might adduce by
way of extenuation, and with the view of justifying a misfortune which is easily
misrepresented. We must, therefore, endeavour to divide to the best of our power the
greater and more serious evil from the lesser. And a distinction may be drawn in the use
of terms of reproach. A man does not always deserve to be called the thrower away of his
shield; he may be only the loser of his arms. For there is a great or rather absolute
difference between him who is deprived of his arms by a sufficient force, and him who
voluntarily lets his shield go. Let the law then be as follows:—If a person having arms is
overtaken by the enemy and does not turn round and defend himself, but lets them go
voluntarily or throws them away, choosing a base life and a swift escape rather than a
courageous and noble and blessed death—in such a case of the throwing away of arms
let justice be done, but the judge need take no note of the case just now mentioned; for
the bad man ought always to be punished, in the hope that he may be improved, but not
the unfortunate, for there is no advantage in that. And what shall be the punishment
suited to him who has thrown away his weapons of defence? Tradition says that
Caeneus, the Thessalian, was changed by a God from a woman into a man; but the
converse miracle cannot now be wrought, or no punishment would be more proper than
that the man who throws away his shield should be changed into a woman. This
however is impossible, and therefore let us make a law as nearly like this as we can—that
he who loves his life too well shall be in no danger for the remainder of his days, but
shall live for ever under the stigma of cowardice. And let the law be in the following
terms:—When a man is found guilty of disgracefully throwing away his arms in war, no
general or military officer shall allow him to serve as a soldier, or give him any place at
all in the ranks of soldiers; and the officer who gives the coward any place, shall suffer a
penalty which the public examiner shall exact of him; and if he be of the highest dass, he
shall pay a thousand drachmae; or if he be of the second class, five minae; or if he be of
the third, three minae; or if he be of the fourth class, one mina. And he who is found
guilty of cowardice, shall not only be dismissed from manly dangers, which is a disgrace
appropriate to his nature, but he shall pay a thousand drachmae, if he be of the highest
class, and five minae if he be of the second class, and three if he be of the third class, and
a mina, like the preceding, if he be of the fourth class.
What regulations will be proper about examiners, seeing that some of our magistrates
are elected by lot, and for a year, and some for a longer time and from selected persons?
Of such magistrates, who will be a sufficient censor or examiner, if any of them, weighed
down by the pressure of office or his own inability to support the dignity of his office, be
guilty of any crooked practice? It is by no means easy to find a magistrate who excels
other magistrates in virtue, but still we must endeavour to discover some censor or
examiner who is more than man. For the truth is, that there are many elements of
dissolution in a state, as there are also in a ship, or in an animal; they all have their
cords, and girders, and sinews—one nature diffused in many places, and called by many
names; and the office of examiner is a most important element in the preservation and
dissolution of states. For if the examiners are better than the magistrates, and their duty
is fulfilled justly and without blame, then the whole state and country flourishes and is
happy; but if the examination of the magistrates is carried on in a wrong way, then, by
the relaxation of that justice which is the uniting principle of all constitutions, every
power in the state is rent asunder from every other; they no longer incline in the same
direction, but fill the city with faction, and make many cities out of one, and soon bring
all to destruction. Wherefore the examiners ought to be admirable in every sort of
virtue. Let us invent a mode of creating them, which shall be as follows:—Every year,
after the summer solstice, the whole city shall meet in the common precincts of Helios
and Apollo, and shall present to the God three men out of their own number in the
manner following:—Each citizen shall select, not himself, but some other citizen whom
he deems in every way the best, and who is not less than fifty years of age. And out of the
selected persons who have the greatest number of votes, they shall make a further
selection until they reduce them to one–half, if they are an even number; but if they are
not an even number, they shall subtract the one who has the smallest number of votes,
and make them an even number, and then leave the half which have the great number of
votes. And if two persons have an equal number of votes, and thus increase the number
beyond one–half, they shall withdraw the younger of the two and do away with the
excess; and then including all the rest they shall again vote, until there are left three
having an unequal number of votes. But if all the three, or two out of the three, have
equal votes, let them commit the election to good fate and fortune, and separate off by
lot the first, and the second, and the third; these they shall crown with an olive wreath
and give them the prize of excellence, at the same time proclaiming to all the world that
the city of the Magnetes, by providence of the Gods, is again preserved, and presents to
the Sun and to Apollo her three best men as first–fruits, to be a common offering to
them, according to the ancient law, as long as their lives answer to the judgment formed
of them. And these shall appoint in their first year twelve examiners, to continue until
each has completed seventy–five years, to whom three shall afterwards be added yearly;
and let these divide all the magistracies into twelve parts, and prove the holders of them
by every sort of test to which a freeman may be subjected; and let them live while they
hold office in the precinct of Helios and Apollo, in which they were chosen, and let each
one form a judgment of some things individually, and of others in company with his
colleagues; and let him place a writing in the agora about each magistracy, and what the
magistrate ought to suffer or pay, according to the decision of the examiners. And if a
magistrate does not admit that he has been justly judged, let him bring the examiners
before the select judges, and if he be acquitted by their decision, let him, if he will,
accuse the examiners themselves; if, however, he be convicted, and have been
condemned to death by the examiners, let him die (and of course he can only die
once):—but any other penalties which admit of being doubled let him suffer twice over.
And now let us pass under review the examiners themselves; what will their
examination be, and how conducted? During the life of these men, whom the whole
state counts worthy of the rewards of virtue, they shall have the first seat at all public
assemblies, and at all Hellenic sacrifices and sacred missions, and other public and holy
ceremonies in which they share. The chiefs of each sacred mission shall be selected from
them, and they only of all the citizens shall be adorned with a crown of laurel; they shall
all be priests of Apollo and Helios; and one of them, who is judged first of the priests
created in that year, shall be high priest; and they shall write up his name in each year to
be a measure of time as long as the city lasts; and after their death they shall be laid out
and carried to the grave and entombed in a manner different from the other citizens.
They shall be decked in a robe all of white, and there shall be no crying or lamentation
over them; but a chorus of fifteen maidens, and another of boys, shall stand around the
bier on either side, hymning the praises of the departed priests in alternate responses,
declaring their blessedness in song all day long; and at dawn a hundred of the youths
who practise gymnastic and whom the relations of the departed shall choose, shall carry
the bier to the sepulchre, the young men marching first, dressed in the garb of
warriors—the cavalry with their horses, the heavy–armed with their arms, and the
others in like manner. And boys neat the bier and in front of it shall sing their national
hymn, and maidens shall follow behind, and with them the women who have passed the
age of childbearing; next, although they are interdicted from other burials, let priests
and priestesses follow, unless the Pythian oracle forbid them; for this burial is free from
pollution. The place of burial shall be an oblong vaulted chamber underground,
constructed of tufa, which will last for ever, having stone couches placed side by side.
And here they will lay the blessed person, and cover the sepulchre with a circular mound
of earth and plant a grove of trees around on every side but one; and on that side the
sepulchre shall be allowed to extend for ever, and a new mound will not be required.
Every year they shall have contests in music and gymnastics, and in horsemanship, in
honour of the dead. These are the honours which shall be given to those who at the
examination are found blameless; but if any of them, trusting to the scrutiny being over,
should, after the judgment has been given, manifest the wickedness of human nature, let
the law ordain that he who pleases shall indict him, and let the cause be tried in the
following manner. In the first place, the court shall be composed of the guardians of the
law, and to them the surviving examiners shall be added, as well as the court of select
judges; and let the pursuer lay his indictment in this form—he shall say that so–and–so
is unworthy of the prize of virtue and of his office; and if the defendant be convicted let
him be deprived of his office, and of the burial, and of the other honours given him. But
if the prosecutor do not obtain the fifth part of the votes, let him, if he be of the first
dass, pay twelve minae, and eight if he be of the second class, and six if he be of the third
dass, and two minae if he be of the fourth class.
The so–called decision of Rhadamanthus is worthy of all admiration. He knew that the
men of his own time believed and had no doubt that there were Gods, which was a
reasonable belief in those days, because most men were the sons of Gods, and according
to tradition he was one himself. He appears to have thought that he ought to commit
judgment to no man, but to the Gods only, and in this way suits were simply and
speedily decided by him. For he made the two parties take an oath respecting the points
in dispute, and so got rid of the matter speedily and safely. But now that a certain
portion of mankind do not believe at all in the existence of the Gods, and others imagine
that they have no care of us, and the opinion of most men, and of the men, is that in
return for small sacrifice and a few flattering words they will be their accomplices in
purloining large sums and save them from many terrible punishments, the way of
Rhadamanthus is no longer suited to the needs of justice; for as the needs of men about
the Gods are changed, the laws should also be changed;—in the granting of suits a
rational legislation ought to do away with the oaths of the parties on either side—he who
obtains leave to bring an action should write, down the charges, but should not add an
oath; and the defendant in like manner should give his denial to the magistrates in
writing, and not swear; for it is a dreadful thing to know, when many lawsuits are going
on in a state that almost half the people who meet one another quite unconcernedly at
the public meals and in other companies and relations of private life are perjured. Let
the law, then, be as follows:—A judge who is about to give judgment shall take an oath,
and he who is choosing magistrates for the state shall either vote on oath or with a
voting tablet which he brings from a temple; so too the judge of dances and of all music,
and the superintendents and umpires of gymnastic and equestrian contests, and any
matters in which, as far as men can judge, there is nothing to be gained by a false oath;
but all cases in which a denial confirmed by an oath clearly results in a great advantage
to the taker of the oath, shall be decided without the oath of the parties to the suit, and
the presiding judges shall not permit either of them. to use an oath for the sake of
persuading, nor to call down curses on himself and his race, nor to use unseemly
supplications or womanish laments. But they shall ever be teaching and learning what is
just in auspicious words; and he who does otherwise shall be supposed to speak beside
the point, and the judges shall again bring him back to the question at issue. On the
other hand, strangers in their dealings with strangers shall as at present have power to
give and receive oaths, for they will not often grow old in the city or leave a fry of young
ones like themselves to be the sons and heirs of the land.
As to the initiation of private suits, let the manner of deciding causes between all
citizens be the same as in cases in which any freeman is disobedient to the state in
minor matters, of which the penalty is not stripes, imprisonment, or death. But as
regards attendance at choruses or processions or other shows, and as regards public
services, whether the celebration of sacrifice in peace, or the payment of contributions in
war—in all these cases, first comes the necessity of providing remedy for the loss; and by
those who will not obey, there shall be security given to the officers whom the city and
the law empower to exact the sum due; and if they forfeit their security, let the goods
which they have pledged be, and the money given to the city; but if they ought to pay a
larger sum, the several magistrates shall impose upon the disobedient a suitable penalty,
and bring them before the court, until they are willing to do what they are ordered.
Now a state which makes money from the cultivation of the soil only, and has no foreign
trade, must consider what it will do about the emigration of its own people to other
countries, and the reception of strangers from elsewhere. About these matters the
legislator has to consider, and he will begin by trying to persuade men as far as he can.
The intercourse of cities with one another is apt to create a confusion of manners;
strangers, are always suggesting novelties to strangers. When states are well governed
by good laws the mixture causes the greatest possible injury; but seeing that most cities
are the reverse of well–ordered, the confusion which arises in them from the reception
of strangers, and from the citizens themselves rushing off into other cities, when any one
either young or old desires to travel anywhere abroad at whatever time, is of no
consequence. On the other hand, the refusal of states to receive others, and for their own
citizens never to go to other places, is an utter impossibility, and to the rest of the world
is likely to appear ruthless and uncivilized; it is a practise adopted by people who use
harsh words, such as xenelasia or banishment of strangers, and who have harsh and
morose ways, as men think. And to be thought or not to be thought well of by the rest of
the world is no light matter; for the many are not so far wrong in their judgment of who
are bad and who are good, as they are removed from the nature of virtue in themselves.
Even bad men have a divine instinct which guesses rightly, and very many who are
utterly depraved form correct notions and judgments of the differences between the
good and bad. And the generality of cities are quite right in exhorting us to value a good
reputation in the world, for there is no truth greater and more important than this—that
he who is really good (I am speaking of the man who would be perfect) seeks for
reputation with, but not without, the reality of goodness. And our Cretan colony ought
also to acquire the fairest and noblest reputation for virtue from other men; and there is
every reason to expect that, if the reality answers to the idea, she will before of the few
well–ordered cities which the sun and the other Gods behold. Wherefore, in the matter
of journeys to other countries and the reception of strangers, we enact as follows:—In
the first place, let no one be allowed to go anywhere at all into a foreign country who is
less than forty years of age; and no one shall go in a private capacity, but only in some
public one, as a herald, or on an embassy; or on a sacred mission. Going abroad on an
expedition or in war, not to be included among travels of the class authorized by the
state. To Apollo at Delphi and to Zeus at Olympia and to Nemea and to the Isthmus,—
citizens should be sent to take part in the sacrifices and games there dedicated to the
Gods; and they should send as many as possible, and the best and fairest that can be
found, and they will make the city renowned at holy meetings in time of peace,
procuring a glory which shall be the converse of that which is gained in war; and when
they come home they shall teach the young that the institutions of other states are
inferior to their own. And they shall send spectators of another sort, if they have the
consent of the guardians, being such citizens as desire to look a little more at leisure at
the doings of other men; and these no law shall hinder. For a city which has no
experience of good and bad men or intercourse with them, can never be thoroughly, and
perfectly civilized, nor, again, can the citizens of a city properly observe the laws by habit
only, and without an intelligent understanding of them. And there always are in the
world a few inspired men whose acquaintance is beyond price, and who spring up quite
as much in ill–ordered as in well–ordered cities. These are they whom the citizens of a
well ordered city should be ever seeking out, going forth over sea and over land to find
him who is incorruptible—that he may establish more firmly institutions in his own
state which are good already; and amend what is deficient; for without this examination
and enquiry a city will never continue perfect any more than if the examination is ill–
conducted.
Cleinias. How can we have an examination and also a good one?
Athenian Stranger. In this way: In the first place, our spectator shall be of not less than
fifty years of age; he must be a man of reputation, especially in war, if he is to exhibit to
other cities a model of the guardians of the law, but when he is more than sixty years of
age he shall no longer continue in his office of spectator, And when he has carried on his
inspection during as many out of the ten years of his office as he pleases, on his return
home let him go to the assembly of those who review the laws. This shall be a mixed
body of young and old men, who shall be required to meet daily between the hour of
dawn and the rising of the sun. They shall consist, in the first place, of the priests who
have obtained the rewards of virtue; and in the second place, of guardians of the law, the
ten eldest being chosen; the general superintendent of education shall also be member,
as well the last appointed as those who have been released from the office; and each of
them shall take with him as his companion young man, whomsoever he chooses,
between the ages of thirty and forty. These shall be always holding conversation and
discourse about the laws of their own city or about any specially good ones which they
may hear to be existing elsewhere; also about kinds of knowledge which may appear to
be of use and will throw light upon the examination, or of which the want will make the
subject of laws dark and uncertain to them. Any knowledge of this sort which the elders
approve, the younger men shall learn with all diligence; and if any one of those who
have been invited appear to be unworthy, the whole assembly shall blame him who
invited him. The rest of the city shall watch over those among the young men who
distinguish themselves, having an eye upon them, and especially honouring them if they
succeed, but dishonouring them above the rest if they turn out to be inferior. This is the
assembly to which he who has visited the institutions of other men, on his return home
shall straightway go, and if he have discovered any one who has anything to say about
the enactment of laws or education or nurture, or if he have himself made any
observations, let him communicate his discoveries to the whole assembly. And if he be
seen to have come home neither better nor worse, let him be praised at any rate for his
enthusiasm; and if he be much better, let him be praised so much the more; and not
only while he lives but after his death let the assembly honour him with fitting honours.
But if on his return home he appear to have been corrupted, pretending to be wise when
he is not, let him hold no communication with any one, whether young or old; and if he
will hearken to the rulers, then he shall be permitted to live as a private individual; but if
he will not, let him die, if he be convicted in a court of law of interfering about education
and the laws, And if he deserve to be indicted, and none of the magistrates indict him,
let that be counted as a disgrace to them when the rewards of virtue are decided.
Let such be the character of the person who goes abroad, and let him go abroad under
these conditions. In the next place, the stranger who comes from abroad should be
received in a friendly spirit. Now there are four kinds of strangers, of whom we must
make some mention—the first is he who comes and stays throughout the summer; this
class are like birds of passage, taking wing in pursuit of commerce, and flying over the
sea to other cities, while the season lasts; he shall be received in market–places and
harbours and public buildings, near the city but outside, by those magistrates who are
appointed to superintend these matters; and they shall take care that a stranger,
whoever he be, duly receives justice; but he shall not be allowed to make any innovation.
They shall hold the intercourse with him which is necessary, and this shall be as little as
possible. The second kind is just a spectator who comes to see with his eyes and hear
with his ears the festivals of the Muses; such ought to have entertainment provided
them at the temples by hospitable persons, and the priests and ministers of the temples
should see and attend to them. But they should not remain more than a reasonable
time; let them see and hear that for the sake of which they came, and then go away,
neither having suffered nor done any harm. The priests shall be their judges, if any of
them receive or do any wrong up to the sum of fifty drachmae, but if any greater charge
be brought, in such cases the suit shall come before the wardens of the agora. The third
kind of stranger is he who comes on some public business from another land, and is to
be received with public honours. He is to be received only by the generals and
commanders of horse and foot, and the host by whom he is entertained, in conjunction
with the Prytanes, shall have the sole charge of what concerns him. There is a fourth
dass of persons answering to our spectators, who come from another land to look at
ours. In the first place, such visits will be rare, and the visitor should be at least fifty
years of age; he may possibly be wanting to see something that is rich and rare in other
states, or himself to show something in like manner to another city. Let such an one,
then, go unbidden to the doors of the wise and rich, being one of them himself: let him
go, for example, to the house of the superintendent of education, confident that he is a
fitting guest of such a host, or let him go to the house of some of those who have gained
the prize of virtue and hold discourse with them, both learning from them, and also
teaching them; and when he has seen and heard all, he shall depart, as a friend taking
leave of friends, and be honoured by them with gifts and suitable tributes of respect.
These are the customs, according to which our city should receive all strangers of either
sex who come from other countries, and should send forth her own citizens, showing
respect to Zeus, the God of hospitality, not forbidding strangers at meals and sacrifices,
as is the manner which prevails among the children of the Nile, nor driving them away
by savage proclamations.
When a man becomes surety, let him give the security in a distinct form, acknowledging
the whole transaction in a written document, and in the presence of not less than three
witnesses if the sum be under a thousand drachmae, and of not less than five witnesses
if the sum be above a thousand drachmae. The agent of a dishonest or untrustworthy
seller shall himself be responsible; both the agent and the principal shall be equally
liable. If a person wishes to find anything in the house of another, he shall enter naked,
or wearing only a short tunic and without a girdle, having first taken an oath by the
customary Gods that he expects to find it there; he shall then make his search, and the
other shall throw open his house and allow him to search things both sealed and
unsealed. And if a person will not allow the searcher to make his search, he who is
prevented shall go to law with him, estimating the value of the goods after which he is
searching, and if the other be convicted he shall pay twice the value of the article. If the
master be absent from home, the dwellers in the house shall let him search the unsealed
property, and on the sealed property the searcher shall set another seal, and shall
appoint any one whom he likes to guard them during five days; and if the master of the
house be absent during a longer time, he shall take with him the wardens of the city, and
so make his search, opening the sealed property as well as the unsealed, and then,
together with the members of the family and the wardens of the city, he shall seal them
up again as they were before. There shall be a limit of time in the case of disputed things,
and he who has had possession of them during a certain time shall no longer be liable to
be disturbed. As to houses and lands there can be no dispute in this state of ours; but if a
man has any other possessions which he has used and openly shown in the city and in
the agora and in the temples, and no one has put in a claim to them, and some one says
that he was looking for them during this time, and the possessor is proved to have made
no concealment, if they have continued for a year, the one having the goods and the
other looking for them, the claim of the seeker shall not be allowed after the expiration
of the year; or if he does not use or show the lost property in the market or in the city,
but only in the country, and no one offers himself as the owner during five years, at the
expiration of the five years the claim shall be barred for ever after; or if he uses them in
the city but within the house, then the appointed time of claiming the goods shall be
three years, or ten years if he has them in the country in private. And if he has them in
another land, there shall be no limit of time or prescription, but whenever the owner
finds them he may claim them.
If any one prevents another by force from being present at a trial, whether a principal
party or his witnesses; if the person prevented be a slave, whether his own or belonging
to another, the suit shall be incomplete and invalid; but if he who is prevented be a
freeman, besides the suit being incomplete, the other who has prevented him shall be
imprisoned for a year, and shall be prosecuted for kidnapping by any one who pleases.
And if any one hinders by force a rival competitor in gymnastic or music, or any other
sort of contest, from being present at the contest, let him who has a mind inform the
presiding judges, and they shall liberate him who is desirous of competing; and if they
are not able, and he who hinders the other from competing wins the prize, then they
shall give the prize of victory to him who is prevented, and inscribe him as the
conqueror in any temples which he pleases; and he who hinders the other shall not be
permitted to make any offering or inscription having reference to that contest, and in
any case he shall be liable for damages, whether he be defeated or whether he conquer.
If any one knowingly receives anything which has been stolen, he shall undergo the
same punishment as the thief, and if a man receives an exile he shall be punished with
death. Every man should regard the friend and enemy of the state as his own friend and
enemy; and if any one makes peace or war with another on his own account, and
without the authority of the state, he, like the receiver of the exile, shall undergo the
penalty of death. And if any fraction of the City declare war or peace against any, the
generals shall indict the authors of this proceeding, and if they are convicted death shall
be the penalty. Those who serve their country ought to serve without receiving gifts, and
there ought to be no excusing or approving the saying, “Men should receive gifts as the
reward of good, but not of evil deeds”; for to know which we are doing, and to stand fast
by our knowledge, is no easy matter. The safest course is to obey the law which says, “Do
no service for a bribe,” and let him who disobeys, if he be convicted, simply die. With a
view to taxation, for various reasons, every man ought to have had his property valued:
and the tribesmen should likewise bring a register of the yearly produce to the wardens
of the country, that in this way there may be two valuations; and the public officers may
use annuary whichever on consideration they deem the best, whether they prefer to take
a certain portion of the whole value, or of the annual revenue, after subtracting what is
paid to the common tables.
Touching offerings to the Gods, a moderate man should observe moderation in what he
offers. Now the land and the hearth of the house of all men is sacred to all Gods;
wherefore let no man dedicate them a second time to the Gods. Gold and silver, whether
possessed by private persons or in temples, are in other cities provocative of envy, and
ivory, the product of a dead body, is not a proper offering; brass and iron, again, are
instruments of war; but of wood let a man bring what offerings he likes, provided it be a
single block, and in like manner of stone, to the public temples; of woven work let him
not offer more than one woman can execute in a month. White is a colour suitable to the
Gods, especially in woven works, but dyes should only be used for the adornments of
war. The most divine of gifts are birds and images, and they should be such as one
painter can execute in a single day. And let all other offerings follow a similar rule.
Now that the whole city has been divided into parts of which the nature and number
have been described, and laws have been given about all the most important contracts as
far as this was possible, the next thing will be to have justice done. The first of the courts
shall consist of elected judges, who shall be chosen by the plaintiff and the defendant in
common: these shall be called arbiters rather than judges. And in the second court there
shall be judges of the villages and tribes corresponding to the twelvefold division of the
land, and before these the litigants shall go to contend for greater damages, if the suit be
not decided before the first judges; the defendant, if he be defeated the second time,
shall pay a fifth more than the damages mentioned in the indictment; and if he find fault
with his judges and would try a third time, let him carry the suit before the select judges,
and if he be again defeated, let him pay the whole of the damages and half as much
again. And the plaintiff, if when defeated before the first judges he persist in going on to
the second, shall if he wins receive in addition to the damages a fifth part more, and if
defeated he shall pay a like sum; but if he is not satisfied with the previous decision, and
will insist on proceeding to a third court, then if he win he shall receive from the
defendant the amount of the damages and, as I said before, half as much again, and the
plaintiff, if he lose, shall pay half of the damages claimed, Now the assignment by lot of
judges to courts and the completion of the number of them, and the appointment of
servants to the different magistrates, and the times at which the several causes should
be heard, and the votings and delays, and all the things that necessarily concern suits,
and the order of causes, and the time in which answers have to be put in and parties are
to appear—of these and other things akin to these we have indeed already spoken, but
there is no harm in repeating what is right twice or thrice:—All lesser and easier matters
which the elder legislator has omitted may be supplied by the younger one. Private
courts will be sufficiently regulated in this way, and the public and state courts, and
those which the magistrates must use in the administration of their several offices, exist
in many other states. Many very respectable institutions of this sort have been framed
by good men, and from them the guardians of the law may by reflection derive what is
necessary, for the order of our new state, considering and correcting them, and bringing
them to the test of experience, until every detail appears to be satisfactorily determined;
and then putting the final seal upon them, and making them irreversible, they shall use
them for ever afterwards. As to what relates to the silence of judges and the abstinence
from words of evil omen and the reverse, and the different notions of the just and good
and honourable which exist in our: own as compared with other states, they have been
partly mentioned already, and another part of them will be mentioned hereafter as we
draw near the end. To all these matters he who would be an equal judge, shall justly
look, and he shall possess writings about them that he may learn them. For of all kinds
of knowledge the knowledge of good laws has the greatest power of improving the
learner; otherwise there would be no meaning the divine and admirable law possessing
a name akin to mind (nous, nomos). And of all other words, such as the praises and
censures of individuals which occur in poetry and also in prose, whether written down
or uttered in daily conversation, whether men dispute about them in the spirit of
contention or weakly assent to them, as is often the case—of all these the one sure test is
the writings of the legislator, which the righteous judge ought to have in his mind as the
antidote of all other words, and thus make himself and the city stand upright, procuring
for the good the continuance and increase of justice, and for the bad, on the other hand,
a conversion from ignorance and intemperance, and in general from all
unrighteousness, as far as their evil minds can be healed, but to those whose web of life
is in reality finished, giving death, which is the only remedy for souls in their condition,
as I may say truly again and again. And such judges and chiefs of judges will be worthy
of receiving praise from the whole city.
When the suits of the year are completed the following laws shall regulate their
execution:—In the first place, the judge shall assign to the party who wins the suit the
whole property of him who loses, with the exception of mere necessaries, and the
assignment shall be made through the herald immediately after each decision in the
hearing of the judges; and when the month arrives following the month in which the
courts are sitting (unless the gainer of the suit has been previously satisfied), the court
shall follow up the case, and hand over to the winner the goods of the loser; but if they
find that he has not the means of paying, and the sum deficient is not less than a
drachma, the insolvent person shall not have any right of going to law with any other
man until he have satisfied the debt of the winning party; but other persons shall still
have the right of bringing suits against him. And if any one after he is condemned
refuses to acknowledge the authority which condemned him, let the magistrates who are
thus deprived of their authority bring him before the court of the guardians of the law,
and if he be cast, let him be punished with death, as a subverter of the whole state and of
the laws.
Thus a man is born and brought up, and after this manner he begets and brings up his
own children, and has his share of dealings with other men, and suffers if he has done
wrong to any one, and receives satisfaction if he has been wronged, and so at length in
due time he grows old under the protection of the laws, and his end comes in the order
of nature. Concerning the dead of either sex, the religious ceremonies which may
fittingly be performed, whether appertaining to the Gods of the underworld or of this,
shall be decided by the interpreters with absolute authority. Their sepulchres are not to
be in places which are fit for cultivation, and there shall be no monuments in such spots,
either large or small, but they shall occupy that part of the country which is naturally
adapted for receiving and concealing the bodies of the dead with as little hurt as possible
to the living. No man, living or dead, shall deprive the living of the sustenance which the
earth, their foster–parent, is naturally inclined to provide for them. And let not the
mound be piled higher than would be the work of five men completed in five days; nor
shall the stone which is placed over the spot be larger than would be sufficient to receive
the praises of the dead included in four heroic lines. Nor shall the laying out of the dead
in the house continue for a longer time than is sufficient to distinguish between him who
is in a trance only and him who is really dead, and speaking generally, the third day after
death will be a fair time for carrying out the body to the sepulchre. Now we must believe
the legislator when he tells us that the soul is in all respects superior to the body, and
that even in life what makes each one us to be what we are is only the soul; and that the
body follows us about in the likeness of each of us, and therefore, when we are dead, the
bodies of the dead are quite rightly said to be our shades or images; for the true and
immortal being of each one of us which is called the soul goes on her way to other Gods,
before them to give an account—which is an inspiring hope to the good, but very terrible
to the bad, as the laws of our fathers tell us; and they also say that not much can be done
in the way of helping a man after he is dead. But the living—he should be helped by all
his kindred, that while in life he may be the holiest and justest of men, and after death
may have no great sins to be punished in the world below. If this be true, a man ought
not to waste his substance under the idea that all this lifeless mass of flesh which is in
process of burial is connected with him; he should consider that the son, or brother, or
the beloved one, whoever he may be, whom he thinks he is laying in the earth, has gone
away to complete and fulfil his own destiny, and that his duty is rightly to order the
present, and to spend moderately on the lifeless altar of the Gods below. But the
legislator does not intend moderation to be take, in the sense of meanness. Let the law,
then, be as follows:—The expenditure on the entire funeral of him who is of the highest
class shall not exceed five minae; and for him who is of the second class, three minae,
and for him who is of the third class, two minae, and for him, who is of the fourth class,
one mina, will be a fair limit of expense. The guardians of the law ought to take especial
care of the different ages of life, whether childhood, or manhood, or any other age. And
at the end of all, let there be some one guardian of the law presiding, who shall be
chosen by the friends of the deceased to superintend, and let it be glory to him to
manage with fairness and moderation what relates to the dead, and a discredit to him if
they are not well managed. Let the laying out and other ceremonies be in accordance
with custom, but to the statesman who adopts custom as his law we must give way in
certain particulars. It would be monstrous for example that he should command any
man to weep or abstain from weeping over the dead; but he may forbid cries of
lamentation, and not allow the voice of the mourner to be heard outside the house; also,
he may forbid the bringing of the dead body into the open streets, or the processions of
mourners in the streets, and may require that before daybreak they should be outside
the city. Let these, then, be our laws relating to such matters, and let him who obeys be
free from penalty; but he who disobeys even a single guardian of the law shall be
punished by them all with a fitting penalty. Other modes of burial, or again the denial of
burial, which is to be refused in the case of robbers of temples and parricides and the
like, have been devised and are embodied in the preceding laws, so that now our work of
legislation is pretty nearly at an end; but in all cases the end does not consist in doing
something or acquiring something or establishing something—the end will be attained
and finally accomplished, when we have provided for the perfect and lasting
continuance of our institutions until then our creation is incomplete.
Cleinias. That is very good Stranger; but I wish you would tell me more clearly what you
mean.
Athenian. O Cleinias, many things of old time were well said and sung; and the saying
about the Fates was one of them.
Cleinias. What is it?
Athenian. The saying that Lachesis or the giver of the lots is the first of them, and that
Clotho or the spinster is the second of them, and that Atropos or the unchanging one is
the third of them; and that she is the preserver of the things which we have spoken, and
which have been compared in a figure to things woven by fire, they both (i.e., Atropos
and the fire) producing the quality of unchangeableness. I am speaking of the things
which in a state and government give not only health and salvation to the body, but law,
or rather preservation of the law, in the soul; and, if I am not mistaken, this seems to be
still wanting in our laws: we have still to see how we can implant in them this
irreversible nature.
Cleinias. It will be no small matter if we can only discover how such a nature can be
implanted in anything.
Athenian. But it certainly can be; so much I clearly see.
Cleinias. Then let us not think of desisting until we have imparted this quality to our
laws; for it is ridiculous, after a great deal of labour has been spent, to place a thing at
last on an insecure foundation.
Megillus. I approve of your suggestion, and am quite of the same mind with you.
Cleinias. Very good: And now what, according to you, is to be the salvation of our
government and of our laws, and how is it to be effected?
Athenian. Were we not saying that there must be in our city a council which was to be of
this sort:—The ten oldest guardians of the law, and all those who have obtained prizes of
virtue, were to meet in the same assembly, and the council was also to include those who
had visited foreign countries in the hope of hearing something that might be of use in
the preservation of the laws, and who, having come safely home, and having been tested
in these same matters, had proved themselves to be worthy to take part in the
assembly;—each of the members was to select some young man of not less than thirty
years of age, he himself judging in the, first instance whether the young man was worthy
by nature and education, and then suggesting him to the others, and if he seemed to
them also to be worthy they were to adopt him; but if not, the decision at which they
arrived was to be kept a secret from the citizens at large; and, more especially, from the
rejected candidate. The meeting of the council was to be held early in the morning, when
everybody was most at leisure from all other business, whether public or private—was
not something of this sort said by us before?
Cleinias. True.
Athenian. Then, returning to the council, I would say further, that if we let it down to be
the anchor of the state, our city, having everything which is suitable to her, will preserve
all that we wish to preserve.
Cleinias. What do you mean?
Athenian. Now is the time for me to speak the truth in all earnestness.
Cleinias. Well said, and I hope that you will fulfil your intention.
Athenian. Know, Cleinias, that everything, in all that it does, has a natural saviour, as of
an animal the soul and the head are the chief saviours.
Cleinias. Once more, what do you mean?
Athenian. The well–being of those two is obviously the preservation of every living
thing.
Cleinias. How is that?
Athenian. The soul, besides other things, contains mind, and the head, besides other
things, contains sight and hearing; and the mind, mingling with the noblest of the
senses, and becoming one with them, may be truly called the salvation of all.
Cleinias. Yes, Quite so.
Athenian. Yes, indeed; but with what is that intellect concerned which, mingling with
the senses, is the salvation of ships in storms as well as in fair weather? In a ship, when
the pilot and the sailors unite their perceptions with the piloting mind, do they not save
both themselves and their craft?
Cleinias. Very true.
Athenian. We do not want many illustrations about such matters:—What aim would the
general of an army, or what aim would a physician propose to himself, if he were seeking
to attain salvation?
Cleinias. Very good.
Athenian. Does not the general aim at victory and superiority in war, and do not the
physician and his assistants aim at producing health in the body?
Cleinias. Certainly.
Athenian. And a physician who is ignorant about the body, that is to say, who knows not
that which we just now called health, or a general who knows not victory, or any others
who are ignorant of the particulars of the arts which we mentioned, cannot be said to
have understanding about any of these matters.
Cleinias. They cannot.
Athenian. And what would you say of the state? If a person proves to be ignorant of the
aim to which the statesman should look, ought he, in the first place, to be called a ruler
at all; further, will he ever be able to preserve that of which he does not even know the
aim?
Cleinias. Impossible.
Athenian. And therefore, if our settlement of the country is to be perfect, we ought to
have some institution, which, as I was saying, will tell what is the aim of the state, and
will inform us how we are to attain this, and what law or what man will advise us to that
end. Any state which has no such institution is likely to be devoid of mind and sense,
and in all her actions will proceed by mere chance.
Cleinias. Very true.
Athenian. In which, then, of the parts or institutions of the state is any such guardian
power to be found? Can we say?
Cleinias. I am not quite certain, Stranger; but I have a suspicion that you are referring to
the assembly which you just now said was to meet at night.
Athenian. You understand me perfectly, Cleinias; and we must assume, as the argument
iniplies, that this council possesses all virtue; and the beginning of virtue is not to make
mistakes by guessing many things, but to look steadily at one thing, and on this to fix all
our aims.
Cleinias. Quite true.
Athenian. Then now we shall see why there is nothing wonderful in states going astray—
the reason is that their legislators have such different aims; nor is there anything
wonderful in some laying down as their rule of justice, that certain individuals should
bear rule in the state, whether they be good or bad, and others that the citizens should
be rich, not caring whether they are the slaves of other men or not. The tendency of
others, again, is towards freedom; and some legislate with a view to two things at once—
they want to be at the same time free and the lords of other states; but the wisest men,
as they deem themselves to be, look to all these and similar aims, and there is no one of
them which they exclusively honour, and to which they would have all things look.
Cleinias. Then, Stranger, our former assertion will hold, for we were saying that laws
generally should look to one thing only; and this, as we admitted, was rightly said to be
virtue.
Athenian. Yes.
Cleinias. And we said that virtue was of four kinds?
Athenian. Quite true.
Cleinias. And that mind was the leader of the four, and that to her the three other
virtues and all other things ought to have regard?
Athenian. You follow me capitally, Cleinias, and I would ask you to follow me to the end,
for we have already said that the mind of the pilot, the mind of the physician and of the
general look to that one thing to which they ought to look; and now we may turn to mind
political, of which, as of a human creature, we will ask a question:—O wonderful being,
and to what are you looking? The physician is able to tell his single aim in life, but you,
the superior, as you declare yourself to be, of all intelligent beings, when you are asked
are not able to tell. Can you, Megillus, and you, Cleinias, say distinctly what is the aim of
mind political, in return for the many explanations of things which I have given you?
Cleinias. We cannot, Stranger.
Athenian. Well, but ought we not to desire to see it, and to see where it is to be found?
Cleinias. For example, where?
Athenian. For example, we were saying that there are four kinds of virtue, and as there
are four of them, each of them must be one.
Cleinias. Certainly.
Athenian. And further, all four of them we call one; for we say that courage is virtue, and
that prudence is virtue, and the same of the two others, as if they were in reality not
many but one, that is, virtue.
Cleinias. Quite so.
Athenian. There is no difficulty in seeing in what way the two differ from one another,
and have received two names, and so of the rest. But there is more difficulty in
explaining why we call these two and the rest of them by the single name of virtue.
Cleinias. How do you mean?
Athenian. I have no difficulty in explaining what I mean. Let us distribute the subject
questions and answers.
Cleinias. Once more, what do you mean?
Athenian. Ask me what is that one thing which call virtue, and then again speak of as
two, one part being courage and the other wisdom. I will tell you how that occurs:—One
of them has to do with fear; in this the beasts also participate, and quite young
children—I mean courage; for a courageous temper is a gift of nature and not of reason.
But without reason there never has been, or is, or will be a wise and understanding soul;
it is of a different nature.
Cleinias. That is true.
Athenian. I have now told you in what way the two are different, and do you in return
tell me in what way they are one and the same. Suppose that I ask you in what way the
four are one, and when you have answered me, you will have a right to ask of me in
return in what way they are four; and then let us proceed to enquire whether in the case
of things which have a name and also a definition to them, true knowledge consists in
knowing the name only and not the definition. Can he who is good for anything be
ignorant of all this without discredit where great and glorious truths are concerned?
Cleinias. I suppose not.
Athenian. And is there anything greater to the legislator and the guardian of the law,
and to him who thinks that he excels all other men in virtue, and has won the palm of
excellence, that these very qualities of which we are now speaking—courage,
temperance, wisdom, justice?
Cleinias. How can there be anything greater?
Athenian. And ought not the interpreters, the teachers the lawgivers, the guardians of
the other citizens, to excel the rest of mankind, and perfectly to show him who desires to
learn and know or whose evil actions require to be punished and reproved, what is the
nature of virtue and vice? Or shall some poet who has found his way into the city, or
some chance person who pretends to be an instructor of youth, show himself to be
better than him who has won the prize for every virtue? And can we wonder that when
the guardians are not adequate in speech or action, and have no adequate knowledge of
virtue, the city being unguarded should experience the common fate of cities in our day?
Cleinias. Wonder! no.
Athenian. Well, then, must we do as we said? Or can we give our guardians a more
precise knowledge of virtue in speech and action than the many have? or is there any
way in which our city can be made to resemble the head and senses of rational beings
because possessing such a guardian power?
Cleinias. What, Stranger, is the drift of your comparison?
Athenian. Do we not see that the city is the trunk, and are not the younger guardians,
who are chosen for their natural gifts, placed in the head of the state, having their souls
all full of eyes, with which they look about the whole city? They keep watch and hand
over their perceptions to the memory, and inform the elders of all that happens in the
city; and those whom we compared to the mind, because they have many wise
thoughts—that is to say, the old men—take counsel and making use of the younger men
as their ministers, and advising with them—in this way both together truly preserve the
whole state:—Shall this or some other be the order of our state? Are all our citizens to be
equal in acquirements, or shall there be special persons among them who have received
a more careful training and education?
Cleinias. That they should be equal, my; good, sir, is impossible.
Athenian. Then we ought to proceed to some more exact training than any which has
preceded.
Cleinias. Certainly.
Athenian. And must not that of which we are in need be the one to which we were just
now alluding?
Cleinias. Very true.
Athenian. Did we not say that the workman or guardian, if he be perfect in every
respect, ought not only to be able to see the many aims, but he should press onward to
the one? this he should know, and knowing, order all things with a view to it.
Cleinias. True.
Athenian. And can any one have a more exact way of considering or contemplating.
anything, than the being able to look at one idea gathered from many different things?
Cleinias. Perhaps not.
Athenian. Not “Perhaps not,” but “Certainly not,” my good sir, is the right answer. There
never has been a truer method than this discovered by any man.
Cleinias. I bow to your authority, Stranger; let us proceed in the way which you propose.
Athenian. Then, as would appear, we must compel the guardians of our divine state to
perceive, in the first place, what that principle is which is the same in all the four—the
same, as we affirm, in courage and in temperance, and in justice and in prudence, and
which, being one, we call as we ought, by the single name of virtue. To this, my friends,
we will, if you please, hold fast, and not let go until we have sufficiently explained what
that is to which we are to look, whether to be regarded as one, or as a whole, or as both,
or in whatever way. Are we likely ever to be in a virtuous condition, if we cannot tell
whether virtue is many, or four, or one? Certainly, if we take counsel among ourselves,
we shall in some way contrive that this principle has a place amongst us; but if you have
made up your mind that we should let the matter alone, we will.
Cleinias. We must not, Stranger, by the God of strangers I swear that we must not, for in
our opinion you speak most truly; but we should like to know how you will accomplish
your purpose.
Athenian. Wait a little before you ask; and let us, first of all, be quite agreed with one
another that the purpose has to be accomplished.
Cleinias. Certainly, it ought to be, if it can be.
Ast. Well, and about the good and the honourable, are we to take the same view? Are our
guardians only to know that each of them is many, or, also how and in what way they are
one?
Cleinias. They must consider also in what sense they are one.
Athenian. And are they to consider only, and to be unable to set forth what they think?
Cleinias. Certainly not; that would be the state of a slave.
Athenian. And may not the same be said of all good things—that the true guardians of
the laws ought to know the truth about them, and to be able to interpret them in words,
and carry them out in action, judging of what is and what is not well, according to
nature?
Cleinias. Certainly.
Athenian. Is not the knowledge of the Gods which we have set forth with so much zeal
one of the noblest sorts of knowledge;—to know that they are, and know how great is
their power, as far as in man lies? do indeed excuse the mass of the citizens, who only
follow the voice of the laws, but we refuse to admit as guardians any who do not labour
to obtain every possible evidence that there is respecting the Gods; our city is forbidden
and not allowed to choose as a guardian of the law, or to place in the select order of
virtue, him who is not an inspired man, and has not laboured at these things.
Cleinias. It is certainly just, as you say, that he who is indolent about such matters or
incapable should be rejected, and that things honourable should be put away from him.
Athenian. Are we assured that there are two things which lead men to believe in the
Gods, as we have already stated?
Cleinias. What are they?
Athenian. One is the argument about the soul, which has been already mentioned—that
it is the eldest, and most divine of all things, to which motion attaining generation gives
perpetual existence; the other was an argument from the order of the motion of the
stars, and of all things under the dominion of the mind which ordered the universe. If a
man look upon the world not lightly or ignorantly, there was never any one so godless
who did not experience an effect opposite to that which the many imagine. For they
think that those who handle these matters by the help of astronomy, and the
accompanying arts of demonstration, may become godless, because they see, as far as
they can see, things happening by necessity, and not by an intelligent will accomplishing
good.
Cleinias. But what is the fact?
Athenian. Just the opposite, as I said, of the opinion which once prevailed among men,
that the sun and stars are without soul. Even in those days men wondered about them,
and that which is now ascertained was then conjectured by some who had a more exact
knowledge of them—that if they had been things without soul, and had no mind, they
could never have moved with numerical exactness so wonderful; and even at that time
some ventured to hazard the conjecture that mind was the orderer of the universe. But
these same persons again mistaking the nature of the soul, which they conceived to be
younger and not older than the body, once more overturned the world, or rather, I
should say, themselves; for the bodies which they saw moving in heaven all appeared to
be full of stones, and earth, and many other lifeless substances, and to these they
assigned the causes of all things. Such studies gave rise to much atheism and perplexity,
and the poets took occasion to be abusive—comparing the philosophers to she–dogs
uttering vain howlings, and talking other nonsense of the same sort. But now, as I said,
the case is reversed.
Cleinias. How so?
Athenian. No man can be a true worshipper of the Gods who does not know these two
principles—that the soul is the eldest of all things which are born, and is immortal and
rules over all bodies; moreover, as I have now said several times, he who has not
contemplated the mind of nature which is said to exist in the stars, and gone through the
previous training, and seen the connection of music with these things, and harmonized
them all with laws and institutions, is not able to give a reason of such things as have a
reason. And he who is unable to acquire this in addition to the ordinary virtues of a
citizen, can hardly be a good ruler of a whole state; but he should be the subordinate of
other rulers. Wherefore, Cleinias and Megillus, let us consider whether we may not add
to all the other laws which we have discussed this further one—that the nocturnal
assembly of the magistrates, which has also shared in the whole scheme of education
proposed by us, shall be a guard set according to law for the salvation of the state. Shall
we propose this?
Cleinias. Certainly, my good friend, we will if the thing is in any degree possible.
Athenian. Let us make a common effort to gain such an object; for I too will gladly share
in the attempt. Of these matters I have had much experience, and have often considered
them, and I dare say that I shall be able to find others who will also help.
Cleinias. I agree, Stranger, that we should proceed along the road in which God is
guiding us; and how we can proceed rightly has now to be investigated and explained.
Athenian. O Megillus and Cleinias, about these matters we cannot legislate further until
the council is constituted; when that is done, then we will determine what authority they
shall have of their own; but the explanation of how this is all to be ordered would only be
given rightly in a long discourse.
Cleinias. What do you mean, and what new thing is this?
Athenian. In the first place, a list would have to be made out of those who by their ages
and studies and dispositions and habits are well fitted for the duty of a guardian. In the
next place, it will not be easy for them to discover themselves what they ought to learn,
or become the disciple of one who has already made the discovery. Furthermore, to
write down the times at which, and during which, they ought to receive the several kinds
of instruction, would be a vain thing; for the learners themselves do not know what is
learned to advantage until the knowledge which is the result of learning has found a
place in the soul of each. And so these details, although they could not be truly said to be
secret, might be said to be incapable of being stated beforehand, because when stated
they would have no meaning.
Cleinias. What then are we to do, Stranger, under these circumstances?
Athenian. As the proverb says, the answer is no secret, but open to all of us:—We must
risk the whole on the chance of throwing, as they say, thrice six or thrice ace, and I am
willing to share with you the danger by stating and explaining to you my views about
education and nurture, which is the question coming to the surface again. The danger is
not a slight or ordinary one, and I would advise you, Cleinias, in particular, to see to the
matter; for if you order rightly the city of the Magnetes, or whatever name God may give
it, you will obtain the greatest glory; or at any rate you will be thought the most
courageous of men in the estimation of posterity. Dear companions, if this our divine
assembly can only be established, to them we will hand over the city; none of the present
company of legislators, as I may call them, would hesitate about that. And the state will
be perfected and become a waking reality, which a little while ago we attempted to
create as a dream and in idea only, mingling together reason and mind in one image, in
the hope that our citizens might be duly mingled and rightly educated; and being
educated, and dwelling in the citadel of the land, might become perfect guardians, such
as we have never seen in all our previous life, by reason of the saving virtue which is in
them.
Megillus. Dear Cleinias, after all that has been said, either we must detain the Stranger,
and by supplications and in all manner of ways make him share in the foundation of the
city, or we must give up the undertaking.
Cleinias. Very true, Megillus; and you must join with me in detaining him.
Megillus. I will.
THE END

OTHER
WORKS
ATTRIBUTED
TO PLATO

I
THE LETTERS

LETTER I
[1.309a] Plato to Dionysius wishes well-doing.
After I had spent so long a time with you and was trusted above all others in my
administration of your government, while you were enjoying the benefits I was
enduring the slanders, grievous as they were. For I knew that men would not
believe that any of your more brutal acts were done with my consent, seeing that
I have for my witnesses [1.309b] all those who take a part in your government,
many of whom I have helped in their times of trial and saved them from no small
damage. But after I had oftentimes kept guard over your City as sole Dictator, I
was dismissed with more ignominy than a beggar would deserve who had stayed
with you for so long a time, were you to pack him off and order him to sail away.
For the future, therefore, I for my part will consult my own interests in less
philanthropic fashion, while you, “gross tyrant that you are, will dwell alone.” And
as for the splendid sum of gold [1.309c] which you gave for my journey home,
Baccheius, the bearer of this letter, is taking it back to you. For it was neither a
sufficient sum for my journey nor was it otherwise useful for my support ; and
since it reflects the greatest disgrace on you who offer it, and not much less on
me if I accept it, I therefore refuse to accept it. But evidently neither the giving
nor the accepting of such an amount makes any difference to you ; take it, then,
and befriend therewith some other companion of yours as you did me ; for I, in
sooth, have had enough of your “befriending.” [1.309d] Indeed, I may
appropriately quote the verse of Euripides — that one day, when other fortunes
befall you,
Thou’lt pray for such a helper by thy side.
And I desire to remind you that most of the other tragedians also, when they
show a tyrant on the stage slaughtered by someone, represent him as crying out
— [1.310a]
Bereft of friends — ah ! woe is me — I die.
But not one of them has represented him as dying for lack of gold. This other
poem also to men of judgement seemeth not amiss —
In this our human life, with halting hopes,
It is not glittering gold that rarest is :
Not diamond nor couches silver-wrought
Appear so brilliant in the eyes of men :
Nor do the fertile fields of earth’s broad breast,
Laden with crops, so all-sufficing seem
As gallant men’s unanimous resolve.
[1.310b] Farewell ; and may you learn how much you have lost in us, so that you
may behave yourself better towards all others.
LETTER II
[2.310b] Plato to Dionysius wishes well-doing.
I hear from Archedemus that you think that not only I myself should keep quiet
but my friends also from doing or saying anything bad about you ; and that “you
except Dion only.” [2.310c] Now your saying this, that Dion is excepted, implies
that I have no control over my friends ; for had I had this control over you and
Dion, as well as the rest, more blessings would have come to us all and to the rest
of the Greeks also, as I affirm. But as it is, my greatness consists in making myself
follow my own instructions. However, I do not say this as though what Cratistolus
and Polyxenus have told you is to be trusted ; for it is said that [2.310d] one of
these men declares that at Olympia he heard quite a number of my companions
maligning you. No doubt his hearing is more acute than mine ; for I certainly
heard no such thing. For the future, whenever anyone makes such a statement
about any of us, what you ought, I think, to do is to send me a letter of inquiry ;
for I shall tell the truth without scruple or shame. Now as for you and me, the
relation in which we stand towards each other is really this. There is not a single
Greek, one may say, to whom we are unknown, and our intercourse is a matter of
common talk ; [2.310e] and you may be sure of this, that it will be common talk
also in days to come, because so many have heard tell of it owing to its duration
and its publicity. What, now, is the point of this remark ? I will go back to the
beginning and tell you. It is natural for wisdom and great power to come
together, and they are for ever pursuing and seeking each other and consorting
together. Moreover, these are qualities which people delight in discussing
themselves in private conversation and hearing others discuss [2.311a] in their
poems. For example, when men talk about Hiero or about Pausanias the
Lacedaemonian they delight to bring in their meeting with Simonides and what
he did and said to them ; and they are wont to harp on Periander of Corinth and
Thales of Miletus, and on Pericles and Anaxagoras, and on Croesus also and
Solon as wise men with Cyrus as potentate. The poets, too, follow their example,
and bring together Creon and Tiresias, [2.311b] Polyeidus and Minos,
Agamemnon and Nestor, Odysseus and Palamedes ; and so it was, I suppose, that
the earliest men also brought together Prometheus and Zeus. And of these some
were — as the poets tell — at feud with each other, and others were friends ;
while others again were now friends and now foes, and partly in agreement and
partly in disagreement. Now my object in saying all this is to make it clear, that
when we ourselves die [2.311c] men’s talk about us will not likewise be silenced ;
so that we must be careful about it. We must necessarily, it seems, have a care
also for the future, seeing that, by some law of nature, the most slavish men pay
no regard to it, whereas the most upright do all they can to ensure that they shall
be well spoken of in the future. Now I count this as a proof that the dead have
some perception of things here on earth ; for the best souls divine that this is so,
[2.311d] while the worst deny it ; and the divinings of men who are godlike are of
more authority than those of men who are not. I certainly think that, had it been
in their power to rectify what was wrong in their intercourse, those men of the
past whom I have mentioned would have striven to the utmost to ensure a better
report of themselves than they now have. In our case, then — if God so grant —
it still remains possible to put right whatever has been amiss in word or deed
during our intercourse in the past. For I maintain that, as regards [2.311e] the true
philosophy, men will think and speak well of it if we ourselves are upright, and ill
if we are base. And in truth we could do nothing more pious than to give
attention to this matter, nothing more impious than to disregard it. How this
result should be brought about, and what is the just course to pursue, I will now
explain. I came to Sicily with the reputation of being by far the most eminent of
those engaged in philosophy ; and I desired, on my arrival [2.312a] in Syracuse, to
gain your testimony as well, in order that I might get philosophy held in honor
even by the multitude. In this, however, I was disappointed. But the reason I give
for this is not that which is commonly given ; rather it was because you showed
that you did not fully trust me but wished rather to get rid of me somehow and
invite others in my place ; and owing, as I believe, to your distrust of me, you
showed yourself inquisitive as to what my business was. Thereupon it was
proclaimed aloud by many that you utterly despised me [2.312b] and were
devoted to other affairs. This certainly was the story noised abroad. And now I
will tell you what it is right to do after this, that so I may reply also to your
question how you and I ought to behave towards each other. If you altogether
despise philosophy, leave it alone. If, again, you have been taught by someone
else or have yourself invented better doctrines than mine, hold them in honor.
But if you are contented with my doctrines, then you should hold me also in
special honor. So now, just as at the beginning, do you lead the way and I will
follow. If I am honored [2.312c] by you, I will honor you ; but if I am not honored I
will keep to myself. Moreover, if you honor me and take the lead in so doing, you
will be thought to be honoring philosophy ; and the very fact that you have
studied other systems as well will gain you the credit, in the eyes of many, of
being a philosopher yourself. But if I honor you, while you do not honor me, I
shall be deemed to be a man who worships and pursues after wealth ; and to
such conduct everyone, we know, gives a bad name. So, to sum it all up, if you
pay the honor, it will be a credit to both of us, but if I pay it a disgrace to both.
[2.312d] So much, then, about this subject. As to the globe, there is something
wrong with it ; and Archedemus will point it out to you when he arrives. There is
also another matter — much more valuable and divine than the globe — which
he most certainly must explain, as you were puzzled about it when you sent him.
For, according to his report, you say that you have not had a sufficient
demonstration of the doctrine concerning the nature of “the First.” Now I must
expound it to you in a riddling way in order that, should the tablet come to any
harm “in folds of ocean or of earth,” he that readeth may not understand. The
matter stands thus : Related to [2.312e] the King of All are all things, and for his
sake they are, and of all things fair He is the cause. And related to the Second are
the second things and related to the Third the third. About these, then, the
human soul strives to learn, looking to the things that are akin to itself, [2.313a]
whereof none is fully perfect. But as to the King and the objects I have
mentioned, they are of quite different quality. In the next place the soul inquires
— “Well then, what quality have they ?” But the cause of all the mischief, O son of
Dionysius and Doris, lies in this very question, or rather in the travail which this
question creates in the soul ; and unless a man delivers himself from this he will
never really attain the truth. You, however, declared to me in the garden, under
the laurels, that you had formed this notion yourself and that it was a discovery
of your own ; [2.313b] and I made answer that if it was plain to you that this was
so, you would have saved me from a long discourse. I said, however, that I had
never met with any other person who had made this discovery ; on the contrary
most of the trouble I had was about this very problem. So then, after you had
either, as is probable, got the true solution from someone else, or had possibly
(by Heaven’s favor) hit on it yourself, you fancied you had a firm grip on the
proofs of it, and so you omitted to make them fast ; thus your view of the truth
sways now this way, now that, round about the apparent object ; whereas the
true object is wholly different. [2.313c] Nor are you alone in this experience ; on
the contrary, there has never yet been anyone, I assure you, who has not suffered
the same confusion at the beginning, when he first learnt this doctrine from me ;
and they all overcome it with difficulty, one man having more trouble and
another less, but scarcely a single one of them escapes with but little. So now that
this has occurred, and things are in this state, we have pretty well found an
answer, as I think, to the question how we ought to behave towards each other.
For seeing that you are testing my doctrines both by attending the lectures of
other teachers and [2.313d] by examining my teaching side by side with theirs, as
well as by itself, then, if the test you make is a true one, not only will these
doctrines implant themselves now in your mind, but you also will be devoted
both to them and to us. How, then, will this, and all that I have said, be brought
to pass ? You have done right now in sending Archedemus ; and in the future
also, after he returns to you and reports my answer, you will probably be beset
later on with fresh perplexities. Then, if you are rightly advised, you will send
Archedemus back to me, and he with his cargo will return to you again. [2.313e]
And if you do this twice or thrice, and fully test the doctrines I send you, I shall be
surprised if your present difficulties do not assume quite a new aspect. Do you,
therefore, act so, and with confidence ; for there is no merchandise more fair than
this or dearer to Heaven which you can ever dispatch or Archedemus transport.
[2.314a] Beware, however, lest these doctrines be ever divulged to uneducated
people. For there are hardly any doctrines, I believe, which sound more absurd
than these to the vulgar, or, on the other hand, more admirable and inspired to
men of fine disposition. For it is through being repeated and listened to
frequently for many years that these doctrines are refined at length, like gold,
with prolonged labor. But listen now to the most remarkable result of all. Quite a
number of men there are [2.314b] who have listened to these doctrines — men
capable of learning and capable also of holding them in mind and judging them
by all sorts of tests — and who have been hearers of mine for no less than thirty
years and are now quite old ; and these men now declare that the doctrines that
they once held to be most incredible appear to them now the most credible, and
what they then held most credible now appears the Opposite. So, bearing this in
mind, have a care lest one day you should repent of what has now been divulged
improperly. The greatest safeguard is to avoid writing and to learn by heart ;
[2.314c] for it is not possible that what is written down should not get divulged.
For this reason I myself have never yet written anything on these subjects, and no
treatise by Plato exists or will exist, but those which now bear his name belong to
a Socrates become fair and young. Fare thee well, and give me credence ; and
now, to begin with, read this letter over repeatedly and then burn it up.
So much, then, for that. You were surprised at my sending Polyxenus to you ; but
now as of old I repeat [2.314d] the same statement about Lycophron also and the
others you have with you, that, as respects dialectic, you are far superior to them
all both in natural intelligence and in argumentative ability ; and I maintain that if
any of them is beaten in argument, this defeat is not voluntary, as some imagine,
but involuntary. All the same, it appears that you treat them with the greatest
consideration and make them presents. So much, then, about these men ; too
much, indeed, about such as they ! As for Philistion, if you are making use of him
yourself by all means do so ; [2.314e] but if not, lend him if possible to Speusippus
and send him home. Speusippus, too, begs you to do so ; and Philistion also
promised me, that, if you would release him, he would gladly come to Athens.
Many thanks for releasing the man in the stone-quarries ; and my request with
regard to his household and Hegesippus, the son of Ariston, is no hard matter ;
for in your letter you said that should anyone wrong him or them and you come
to know of it you would not allow it. It is proper for me also to say what is true
[2.315a] about Lysicleides ; for of all those who have come to Athens from Sicily
he is the only one who has not misrepresented your association with me ; on the
contrary, he always speaks nicely about past events and puts the best
construction on them.
LETTER III
[3.315a] “Plato to Dionysius wishes joy !”
If I wrote thus, [3.315b] should I be hitting on the best mode of address ? Or
rather, by writing, according to my custom, “Wishes well-doing,” this being my
usual mode of address, in my letters to my friends ? You, indeed, — as was
reported by the spectators then present — addressed even the God himself at
Delphi in this same flattering phrase, and wrote, as they say, this verse —
I wish you joy ! And may you always keep
The tyrant’s life a life of pleasantness.
[3.315c] But as for me, I would not call upon a man, and much less a god, and bid
him enjoy himself — a god, because I would be imposing a task contrary to his
nature (since the Deity has his abode far beyond pleasure or pain), — nor yet a
man, because pleasure and pain generate mischief for the most part, since they
breed in the soul mental sloth and forgetfulness and witlessness and insolence.
Let such, then, be my declaration regarding the mode of address ; and you, when
you read it, accept it in what sense you please. It is stated by not a few that you
related to some [3.315d] of the ambassadors at your Court, that upon one
occasion I heard you speaking of your intention to occupy the Greek cities in Italy
and to relieve the Syracusans by changing the government to a monarchy instead
of a tyranny, and at that time (as you assert) I stopped you from doing so,
although you were most eager to do it, whereas now I am urging Dion to do
precisely the same thing ; and thus we are robbing you of your empire by means
of your own plans. [3.315e] Whether you derive any benefit from this talk you
know best yourself, but you certainly wrong me by saying what is contrary to the
fact. For of false accusation I have had enough from Philistides and many others
who accused me to the mercenaries and to the Syracusan populace because I
stayed in the acropolis ; and the people outside, whenever a mistake occurred,
ascribed it entirely to me, alleging that you obeyed me in all things. But you
yourself know for certain [3.316a] that I willingly took part in some few of your
political acts at the first, when I thought that I was doing some good by it and
that I gave a fair amount of attention to the Preludes of the laws, besides other
small matters, apart from the additions in writing made by you or anyone else —
for I am told that some of you afterwards revised my Preludes ; but no doubt the
several contributions will be evident to those who are competent to appreciate
my style. Well then, as I said just now, what I need is not any further accusation to
the Syracusans, or any others there may be who believe your story, but much
rather [3.316b] a defence not only against the previous false accusations, but also
against the graver and more violent accusation which is now being concocted to
follow it. Against the two accusations I must necessarily make a twofold defence
— stating, firstly, that I reasonably avoided sharing in your political transactions ;
and, secondly, that neither the advice was mine, nor yet the hindrance you
alleged, — when you said that I had stopped you when you proposed to plant
colonists in the Greek cities.
So, listen first [3.316c] to the origin of the first of the accusations I have
mentioned. It was on your invitation and Dion’s that I came to Syracuse. Dion was
a tried comrade of mine and a guest-friend of old standing, and he was a man of
staid middle age, — qualities that are specially required by men who possess
even a particle of sense when they intend to advise concerning affairs so
important as yours then were. You, on the other hand, were extremely young,
and in your case I was quite without experience of those points regarding which
experience was required, [3.316d] as I was totally unacquainted with you.
Thereafter, some man or god or chance, with your assistance, cast out Dion, and
you were left alone. Do you suppose, then, that I took any part with you in your
political acts, when I had lost my wise partner and saw the unwise one left behind
in the company of a crowd of evil men, not ruling himself, but being ruled by
men of that sort, while fancying himself the ruler ? In these circumstances what
ought I to have done ? Was I not bound to do as I did, — to bid farewell for the
future to politics, [3.316e] shunning the slanders which proceed from envy, and to
use every endeavor to make you and Dion as friendly to each other as possible,
separated though you were and at variance with each other ? Yea, you yourself
also are a witness of this, that I have never yet ceased to strive for this very
object. And it was agreed between us — although with difficulty — that I should
sail home, [3.317a] since you were engaged in war, and that, when peace was
restored, Dion and I should go to Syracuse and that you should invite us. And
that was how things took place as regards my first sojourn at Syracuse and my
safe return home again. But on the second occasion, when peace was restored,
you did not keep to our agreement in the invitation you gave me but wrote that I
should come alone, and stated that you would send for Dion later on. On this
account I did not go ; and, moreover, I was vexed also with Dion ; [3.317b] for he
was of opinion that it was better for me to go and to yield to your wishes.
Subsequently, after a year’s interval, a trireme arrived with letters from you, and
the first words written in the letters were to the effect that if I came I should find
that Dion’s affairs would all proceed as I desired, but the opposite if I failed to
come. And indeed I am ashamed to say how many letters came at that time from
Italy and Sicily from you and [3.317c] from others on your account, or to how
many of my friends and acquaintances they were addressed, all enjoining me to
go and beseeching me to trust you entirely. It was the firm opinion of everyone,
beginning with Dion, that it was my duty to make the voyage and not be fainthearted.
But I always made my age an excuse ; and as for you, I kept assuring
them that you would not be able to withstand those who slander us and desire
that we should quarrel ; for I saw then, as I see now, that, as a rule, when great
and exorbitant wealth is in the hands either of private citizens or of monarchs,
[3.317d] the greater it is, the greater and more numerous are the slanderers it
breeds and the hordes of parasites and wastrels — than which there is no greater
evil generated by wealth or by the other privileges of power. Notwithstanding, I
put aside all these considerations and went, resolving that none of my friends
should lay it to my charge that owing to my lack of energy all their fortunes were
ruined when they might have been saved from ruin. [3.317e] On my arrival — for
you know, to be sure, all that subsequently took place — I, of course, requested,
in accordance with the agreement in your letters, that you should, in the first
place, recall Dion on terms of friendship — which terms I mentioned ; and if you
had then yielded to this request, things would probably have turned out better
than they have done now both for you and Syracuse and for the rest of Greece —
that, at least, is my own intuitive belief. Next, I requested that Dion’s family
should have possession of his property, [3.318a] instead of the distributors, whom
you wot of, having the distribution of it. And further, I deemed it right that the
revenue which was usually paid over to him year by year should be forwarded to
him all the more, rather than all the less, because of my presence. None of these
requests being granted, I asked leave to depart. Thereupon you kept urging me
to stop for the year, declaring that you would sell all Dion’s property and send
one half of the proceeds to Corinth and retain the other half for his son. [3.318b]
And I could mention many other promises none of which you fulfilled ; but the
number of them is so great that I cut it short. For when you had sold all the
goods, without Dion’s consent — though you had declared that without his
consent you would not dispose of them — you put the coping-stone on all your
promises, my admirable friend, in a most outrageous way : you invented a plan
that was neither noble nor ingenious nor just nor profitable — namely, to scare
me off from so much as [3.318c] seeking for the dispatch of the money, as being
in ignorance of the events then going on. For when you sought to expel
Heracleides unjustly, as it seemed to the Syracusans as well as to myself —
because I had joined with Theodotes and Eurybius in entreating you not to do so,
you took this as an ample excuse, and asserted that it had long been plain to you
that I paid no regard to you, but only to Dion and Dion’s friends and connections,
and now that Theodotes and Heracleides, who were Dion’s connections, were the
subjects of accusations, I was using every means to prevent their paying the just
penalty.
[3.318d] Such, then, was the course of events as regards our association in
political affairs. And if you perceived any other estrangement in my attitude
towards you, you may reasonably suppose that that was the way in which all
these things took place. Nor need you be surprised ; for I should justly be
accounted base by any man of sense had I been influenced by the greatness of
your power to betray my old and intimate guest-friend — a man, to say the least,
in no wise inferior to you — [3.318e] when, because of you, he was in distress, and
to prefer you, the man who did the wrong, and to do everything just as you bade
me — for filthy lucre’s sake, obviously ; for to this, and nothing else, men would
have ascribed this change of front in me, if I had changed. Well, then, it was the
fact that things took this course, owing to you, which produced this wolf-love and
want of fellowship between you and me.
Practically continuous with the statement made just now there comes, I find, that
other statement against which, as I said, [3.319a] I have to make my second
defence. Consider now and pay the closest attention, in case I seem to you to be
lying at all and not speaking the truth. I affirm that when Archedemus and
Aristocritus were with us in the garden, some twenty days before I departed
home from Syracuse, you made the same complaint against me that you are
making now — that I cared more for Heracleides and for all the rest than for you.
And in the presence of those men you asked me whether I remembered bidding
you, when I first arrived, [3.319b] to plant settlers in the Greek cities. I granted you
that I did remember, and that I still believed that this was the best policy. But,
Dionysius, I must also repeat, the next observation that was made on this
occasion. For I asked you whether this and this only was what I advised, or
something else besides and you made answer to me in a most indignant and
most mocking tone, as you supposed — and consequently the object of your
mockery then has now turned out a reality instead of a dream ; for you said with
a very artificial laugh, [3.319c] if my memory serves me — “You bade me be
educated before I did all these things or else not do them.” I replied that your
memory was excellent. You then said — “Did you mean educated in landmeasuring
or what ?” But I refrained from making the retort which it occurred to
me to make, for I was alarmed about the homeward voyage I was hoping for, lest
instead of having an open road I should find it shut, and all because of a short
saying. Well then, the purpose of all I have said is this : do not slander me by
declaring that I was hindering you from colonizing the Greek cities that were
ruined by the barbarians, [3.319d] and from relieving the Syracusans by
substituting a monarchy for a tyranny. For you could never bring any false
accusation against me that was less appropriate than these ; and, moreover, in
refutation of them I could bring still clearer statements if any competent tribunal
were anywhere to be seen — showing that it was I who was urging you, and you
who were refusing, to execute these plans. And, verily, it is easy to affirm frankly
that these plans, if they had been executed, were the best both for you and the
Syracusans, and for all the Siceliots. But, my friend, [3.319e] if you deny having
said this, when you have said it, I am justified ; while if you confess it, you should
further agree that Stesichorus was a wise man, and imitate his palinode, and
renounce the false for the true tale.
LETTER IV
[4.320a] Plato to Dion of Syracuse wishes well-doing.
It has been plain, I believe, all along that I took a keen interest in the operations
that have been carried out, and that I was most anxious to see them finally
completed. In this I was mainly prompted [4.320b] by my jealous regard for what
is noble ; for I esteem it just that those who are truly virtuous, and who act
accordingly, should achieve the reputation they deserve. Now for the present
(God willing) affairs are going well ; but it is in the future that the chief struggle
lies. For while it might be thought that excellence in courage and speed and
strength might belong to various other men, everyone would agree that
surpassing excellence in truth, justice, generosity and the outward exhibition of
all these virtues [4.320c] naturally belongs to those who profess to hold them in
honor. Now the point of this remark is plain ; but none the less it is right that we
should remind ourselves that it behoves certain persons (who these are of course
you know) to surpass the rest of mankind as if they were less than children. It is,
therefore, incumbent upon us to show plainly that we are the sort of men we
claim to be, and that all the more because (God willing) it will be an easy task. For
whereas all other men find it necessary to wander far afield [4.320d] if they mean
to get themselves known, you are in such a position now that people all the
world over — bold though it be to say so — have their eyes fixed on one place
only, and in that place upon you above all men. Seeing, then, that you have the
eyes of all upon you, prepare yourself to play the part of that ancient worthy
Lycurgus and of Cyrus and of all those others who have been famed hitherto for
their excellence of character and of statesmanship ; and that all the more because
there are [4.320e] many, including nearly all the people here, who keep saying
that, now that Dionysius is overthrown, there is every prospect that things will go
to ruin owing to the jealous rivalry of yourself, and Heracleides and Theodotes
and the other notables. I pray, then, that no one, if possible, may suffer from this
complaint ; but in case anyone should, after all, do so, you must play the part of a
physician ; and so things will turn out best for you all.
[4.321a] Probably it strikes you as ridiculous that I should say this, seeing that you
yourself also know it quite well ; but I notice how even in the theaters the players
are spurred on by the plaudits of the children — not to speak of their own friends
— whenever a player believes them to be genuine and well-meaning in their
encouragement. So do you also play your parts now ; and if you have need of
anything send us word. Affairs with us are in much the same state as when you
were here. Send us word also about what you have already done or happen to be
doing now, [4.321b] since we know nothing although we hear many reports. Even
at this moment letters have come to Lacedaemon and Aegina from Theodotes
and Heracleides ; but we, as I said, know nothing, although we hear many reports
from the people here. And, Dion, do you also bear in mind that you are thought
by some to be unduly wanting in affability ; so do not forget that successful
action depends on pleasing people, [4.321c] whereas arrogance is next neighbor
to isolation. Good-luck attend thee !
LETTER V
[5.321c] Plato to Perdiccas wishes well-doing.
I counselled Euphraeus, in accordance with your message, to devote his time to
the task of caring for your interests ; and I feel myself bound also to give you
friendly, and what is called “sacred,” counsel [5.321d] both about the other
matters you mention and as to how you ought now to make use of Euphraeus.
For the man is useful for many things, the most important being that in which
you yourself are deficient owing to your youth, and also because it is a matter
about which there are not many counsellors available for the young. For forms of
government, like animals, have each their own kind of language, one for
democracy, another for oligarchy, and a third kind for monarchy ; and though a
vast number of people would assert that they understand these languages, yet all
but a few of them [5.321e] are very far indeed from discerning them. Now each of
these polities, if it speaks its own language both to gods and to men, and renders
its actions conformable to its language, remains always flourishing and secure ;
but if it imitates another it becomes corrupted. It is for this study, then, that
Euphraeus will be specially useful to you, although there are also other studies in
which he is competent. For he, I hope, will help you to explore the speech of
monarchy [5.322a] as well as any of the persons you employ. So if you make use
of him for this purpose you will not only benefit yourself but will also be helping
him immensely. Suppose, however, that on hearing this someone were to say :
“Plato, as it seems, is claiming to know what is of advantage to democracy ; yet
when he has had it in his power to speak before the demos and to counsel it for
the best he has never yet stood up and made a speech” — to this you may reply
that “Plato was born late in the history of his country, and he found the demos
[5.322b] already old and habituated by the previous statesmen to do many things
at variance with his own counsel. For he would have given counsel to it, as to his
father, with the greatest possible pleasure, had he not supposed that he would
be running risks in vain, and would do no good. And I suppose that he would do
the same as regards counselling me. For if he deemed us to be in an incurable
state, he would bid us a long farewell and leave off giving counsel about me or
my affairs.” [5.322c] Good-luck be thine !
LETTER VI
[6.322c] Plato to Hermeias and Erastus and Coriscus wishes well-doing.
Some God, as it seems plain to me, is preparing for you good fortune in a
gracious and bountiful way, if only you accept it with grace. For you dwell near
together as neighbors in close association [6.322d] so that you can help one
another in the things of greatest importance. For Hermeias will find in his
multitude of horses or of other military equipment, or even in the gaining of gold
itself, no greater source of power for all purposes than in the gaining of steadfast
friends possessed of a sound character ; while Erastus and Coriscus, in addition to
this fair Science of Ideas, need also — as I, old though I am, assert — the science
which is a safeguard in dealing with the wicked and unjust, and a kind of selfdefensive
power. [6.322e] For they lack experience owing to the fact that they
have spent a large part of their lives in company with us who are men of
moderation and free from vice ; and for this reason, as I have said, they need
these additional qualities, so that they may not be compelled to neglect the true
Science, and to pay more attention than is right to that which is human and
necessitated. Now Hermeias, on the other hand, seems to me — [6.323a] so far as
I can judge without having met him as yet — to possess this practical ability both
by nature and also through the skill bred of experience. What, then, do I
suggest ? To you, Hermeias, I, who have made trial of Erastus and Coriscus more
fully than you, affirm and proclaim and testify that you will not easily discover
more trustworthy characters than these your neighbors ; and I counsel you to
hold fast to these men by every righteous means, and regard this as a duty of no
secondary importance. To Coriscus and Erastus the counsel I give is this — that
they in turn should hold fast to Hermeias, [6.323b] and endeavor by thus holding
to one another to become united in the bonds of friendship. But in case any one
of you should be thought to be breaking up this union in any way — for what is
human is not altogether durable — send a letter here to me and my friends
stating the grounds of complaint ; for I believe that — unless the disruption
should happen to be serious — the arguments sent you from here by us, based
on justice and reverence, will serve better than any incantation to weld you and
bind you together once again into your former state of friendship [6.323c] and
fellowship. If, then, all of us — both we and you — practice this philosophy, as
each is able, to the utmost of our power, the prophecy I have now made will
come true ; but if we fail to do this, I keep silence as to the consequence ; for the
prophecy I am making is one of good omen, and I declare that we shall, God
willing, do all these things well. All you three must read this letter, all together if
possible, or if not by twos ; and as often as you possibly can read it in common,
and use it as a form of covenant and a binding law, [6.323d] as is right ; and with
an earnestness that is not out of tune combined with the playfulness that is sister
to earnestness, swear by the God that is Ruler of all that is and that shall be, and
swear by the Lord and Father of the Ruler and Cause, Whom, if we are real
philosophers, we shall all know truly so far as men well-fortuned can.
LETTER VII
[7.323d] Plato to Dion’s associates and friends wishes well-doing.
You wrote to me that I ought to consider that your policy was the same as that
which Dion had ; and moreover you charged me to support it, so far as I can,
both by deed and word. Now if you really hold the same views and aims as he, I
consent to support them, but if not, I will ponder the matter many times over.
And what was his policy and his aim I will tell you, and that, as I may say, not from
mere conjecture but from certain knowledge. For when I originally arrived at
Syracuse, being about forty years old, Dion was of the age which Hipparinus has
now reached, and the views which he had then come to hold he continued to
hold unchanged ; for he believed that the Syracusans ought to be free and dwell
under the best laws. Consequently, it is no matter of surprise if some Deity has
made Hipparinus also come to share his views about government and be of the
same mind. Now the manner in which these views originated is a story well worth
hearing for young and old alike, and I shall endeavor to narrate it to you from the
beginning ; for at the present moment it is opportune.
In my youth I went through the same experience as many other men. I fancied
that if, early in life, I became my own master, I should at once embark on a
political career. And I found myself confronted with the following occurrences in
the public affairs of my own city. The existing constitution being generally
condemned, a revolution took place, and fifty-one men came to the front as
rulers of the revolutionary government, namely eleven in the city and ten in the
Peiraeus — each of these bodies being in charge of the market and municipal
matters — while thirty were appointed rulers with full powers over public affairs
as a whole. Some of these were relatives and acquaintances of mine, and they at
once invited me to share in their doings, as something to which I had a claim. The
effect on me was not surprising in the case of a young man. I considered that
they would, of course, so manage the State as to bring men out of a bad way of
life into a good one. So I watched them very closely to see what they would do.
And seeing, as I did, that in quite a short time they made the former government
seem by comparison something precious as gold — for among other things they
tried to send a friend of mine, the aged Socrates, whom I should scarcely scruple
to describe as the most upright man of that day, with some other persons to
carry off one of the citizens by force to execution, in order that, whether he
wished it, or not, he might share the guilt of their conduct ; but he would not
obey them, risking all consequences in preference to becoming a partner in their
iniquitous deeds — seeing all these things and others of the same kind on a
considerable scale, I disapproved of their proceedings, and withdrew from any
connection with the abuses of the time.
Not long after that a revolution terminated the power of the thirty and the form
of government as it then was. And once more, though with more hesitation, I
began to be moved by the desire to take part in public and political affairs. Well,
even in the new government, unsettled as it was, events occurred which one
would naturally view with disapproval ; and it was not surprising that in a period
of revolution excessive penalties were inflicted by some persons on political
opponents, though those who had returned from exile at that time showed very
considerable forbearance. But once more it happened that some of those in
power brought my friend Socrates, whom I have mentioned, to trial before a
court of law, laying a most iniquitous charge against him and one most
inappropriate in his case : for it was on a charge of impiety that some of them
prosecuted and others condemned and executed the very man who would not
participate in the iniquitous arrest of one of the friends of the party then in exile,
at the time when they themselves were in exile and misfortune.
As I observed these incidents and the men engaged in public affairs, the laws too
and the customs, the more closely I examined them and the farther I advanced in
life, the more difficult it seemed to me to handle public affairs aright. For it was
not possible to be active in politics without friends and trustworthy supporters ;
and to find these ready to my hand was not an easy matter, since public affairs at
Athens were not carried on in accordance with the manners and practices of our
fathers ; nor was there any ready method by which I could make new friends. The
laws too, written and unwritten, were being altered for the worse, and the evil
was growing with startling rapidity. The result was that, though at first I had been
full of a strong impulse towards political life, as I looked at the course of affairs
and saw them being swept in all directions by contending currents, my head
finally began to swim ; and, though I did not stop looking to see if there was any
likelihood of improvement in these symptoms and in the general course of public
life, I postponed action till a suitable opportunity should arise. Finally, it became
clear to me, with regard to all existing cornmunities, that they were one and all
misgoverned. For their laws have got into a state that is almost incurable, except
by some extraordinary reform with good luck to support it. And I was forced to
say, when praising true philosophy that it is by this that men are enabled to see
what justice in public and private life really is. Therefore, I said, there will be no
cessation of evils for the sons of men, till either those who are pursuing a right
and true philosophy receive sovereign power in the States, or those in power in
the States by some dispensation of providence become true philosophers.
With these thoughts in my mind I came to Italy and Sicily on my first visit. My first
impressions on arrival were those of strong disapproval — disapproval of the
kind of life which was there called the life of happiness, stuffed full as it was with
the banquets of the Italian Greeks and Syracusans, who ate to repletion twice
every day, and were never without a partner for the night ; and disapproval of the
habits which this manner of life produces. For with these habits formed early in
life, no man under heaven could possibly attain to wisdom — human nature is
not capable of such an extraordinary combination. Temperance also is out of the
question for such a man ; and the same applies to virtue generally. No city could
remain in a state of tranquillity under any laws whatsoever, when men think it
right to squander all their property in extravagant, and consider it a duty to be
idle in everything else except eating and drinking and the laborious prosecution
of debauchery. It follows necessarily that the constitutions of such cities must be
constantly changing, tyrannies, oligarchies and democracies succeeding one
another, while those who hold the power cannot so much as endure the name of
any form of government which maintains justice and equality of rights.
With a mind full of these thoughts, on the top of my previous convictions, I
crossed over to Syracuse — led there perhaps by chance — but it really looks as
if some higher power was even then planning to lay a foundation for all that has
now come to pass with regard to Dion and Syracuse — and for further troubles
too, I fear, unless you listen to the advice which is now for the second time
offered by me. What do I mean by saying that my arrival in Sicily at that
movement proved to be the foundation on which all the sequel rests ? I was
brought into close intercourse with Dion who was then a young man, and
explained to him my views as to the ideals at which men should aim, advising him
to carry them out in practice. In doing this I seem to have been unaware that I
was, in a fashion, without knowing it, contriving the overthrow of the tyranny
which ; subsequently took place. For Dion, who rapidly assimilated my teaching
as he did all forms of knowledge, listened to me with an eagerness which I had
never seen equalled in any young man, and resolved to live for the future in a
better way than the majority of Italian and Sicilian Greeks, having set his affection
on virtue in preference to pleasure and self-indulgence. The result was that until
the death of Dionysios he lived in a way which rendered him somewhat
unpopular among those whose manner of life was that which is usual in the
courts of despots.
After that event he came to the conclusion that this conviction, which he himself
had gained under the influence of good teaching, was not likely to be confined to
himself. Indeed, he saw it being actually implanted in other minds — not many
perhaps, but certainly in some ; and he thought that with the aid of the Gods,
Dionysios might perhaps become one of these, and that, if such a thing did come
to pass, the result would be a life of unspeakable happiness both for himself and
for the rest of the Syracusans. Further, he thought it essential that I should come
to Syracuse by all manner of means and with the utmost possible speed to be his
partner in these plans, remembering in his own case how readily intercourse with
me had produced in him a longing for the noblest and best life. And if it should
produce a similar effect on Dionysios, as his aim was that it should, he had great
hope that, without bloodshed, loss of life, and those disastrous events which have
now taken place, he would be able to introduce the true life of happiness
throughout the whole territory.
Holding these sound views, Dion persuaded Dionysios to send for me ; he also
wrote himself entreating me to come by all manner of means and with the
utmost possible speed, before certain other persons coming in contact with
Dionysios should turn him aside into some way of life other than the best. What
he said, though perhaps it is rather long to repeat, was as follows : “What
opportunities,” he said, “shall we wait for, greater than those now offered to us by
Providence ?” And he described the Syracusan empire in Italy and Sicily, his own
influential position in it, and the youth of Dionysios and how strongly his desire
was directed towards philosophy and education. His own nephews and relatives,
he said, would be readily attracted towards the principles and manner of life
described by me, and would be most influential in attracting Dionysios in the
same direction, so that, now if ever, we should see the accomplishment of every
hope that the same persons might actually become both philosophers and the
rulers of great States. These were the appeals addressed to me and much more
to the same effect.
My own opinion, so far as the young men were concerned, and the probable line
which their conduct would take, was full of apprehension — for young men are
quick in forming desires, which often take directions conflicting with one another.
But I knew that the character of Dion’s mind was naturally a stable one and had
also the advantage of somewhat advanced years.
Therefore, I pondered the matter and was in two minds as to whether I ought to
listen to entreaties and go, or how I ought to act ; and finally the scale turned in
favour of the view that, if ever anyone was to try to carry out in practice my ideas
about laws and constitutions, now was the time for making the attempt ; for if
only I could fully convince one man, I should have secured thereby the
accomplishment of all good things.
With these views and thus nerved to the task, I sailed from home, in the spirit
which some imagined, but principally through a feeling of shame with regard to
myself, lest I might some day appear to myself wholly and solely a mere man of
words, one who would never of his own will lay his hand to any act. Also there
was reason to think that I should be betraying first and foremost my friendship
and comradeship with Dion, who in very truth was in a position of considerable
danger. If therefore anything should happen to him, or if he were banished by
Dionysios and his other enemies and coming to us as exile addressed this
question to me : “Plato, I have come to you as a fugitive, not for want of hoplites,
nor because I had no cavalry for defence against my enemies, but for want of
words and power of persuasion, which I knew to be a special gift of yours,
enabling you to lead young men into the path of goodness and justice, and to
establish in every case relations of friendship and comradeship among them. It is
for the want of this assistance on your part that I have left Syracuse and am here
now. And the disgrace attaching to your treatment of me is a small matter. But
philosophy — whose praises you are always singing, while you say she is held in
dishonour by the rest of mankind — must we not say that philosophy along with
me has now been betrayed, so far as your action was concerned ? Had I been
living at Megara, you would certainly have come to give me your aid towards the
objects for which I asked it ; or you would have thought yourself the most
contemptible of mankind. But as it is, do you think that you will escape the
reputation of cowardice by making excuses about the distance of the journey, the
length of the sea voyage, and the amount of labour involved ? Far from it.” To
reproaches of this kind what creditable reply could I have made ? Surely none.
I took my departure, therefore, acting, so far as a man can act, in obedience to
reason and justice, and for these reasons leaving my own occupations, which
were certainly not discreditable ones, to put myself under a tyranny which did not
seem likely to harmonise with my teaching or with myself. By my departure I
secured my own freedom from the displeasure of Zeus Xenios, and made myself
clear of any charge on the part of philosophy, which would have been exposed to
detraction, if any disgrace had come upon me for faint-heartedness and
cowardice.
On my arrival, to cut a long story short, I found the court of Dionysios full of
intrigues and of attempts to create in the sovereign ill-feeling against Dion. I
combated these as far as I could, but with very little success ; and in the fourth
month or thereabouts, charging Dion with conspiracy to seize the throne,
Dionysios put him on board a small boat and expelled him from Syracuse with
ignominy. All of us who were Dion’s friends were afraid that he might take
vengeance on one or other of us as an accomplice in Dion’s conspiracy. With
regard to me, there was even a rumour current in Syracuse that I had been put to
death by Dionysios as the cause of all that had occurred. Perceiving that we were
all in this state of mind and apprehending that our fears might lead to some
serious consequence, he now tried to win all of us over by kindness : me in
particular he encouraged, bidding me be of good cheer and entreating me on all
grounds to remain. For my flight from him was not likely to redound to his credit,
but my staying might do so. Therefore, he made a great pretence of entreating
me. And we know that the entreaties of sovereigns are mixed with compulsion.
So to secure his object he proceeded to render my departure impossible,
bringing me into the acropolis, and establishing me in quarters from which not a
single ship’s captain would have taken me away against the will of Dionysios, nor
indeed without a special messenger sent by him to order my removal. Nor was
there a single merchant, or a single official in charge of points of departure from
the country, who would have allowed me to depart unaccompanied, and would
not have promptly seized me and taken me back to Dionysios, especially since a
statement had now been circulated contradicting the previous rumours and
giving out that Dionysios was becoming extraordinarily attached to Plato. What
were the facts about this attachment ? I must tell the truth. As time went on, and
as intercourse made him acquainted with my disposition and character, he did
become more and more attached to me, and wished me to praise him more than
I praised Dion, and to look upon him as more specially my friend than Dion, and
he was extraordinarily eager about this sort of thing. But when confronted with
the one way in which this might have been done, if it was to be done at all, he
shrank from coming into close and intimate relations with me as a pupil and
listener to my discourses on philosophy, fearing the danger suggested by
mischief-makers, that he might be ensnared, and so Dion would prove to have
accomplished all his object. I endured all this patiently, retaining the purpose with
which I had come and the hope that he might come to desire the philosophic life.
But his resistance prevailed against me.
The time of my first visit to Sicily and my stay there was taken up with all these
incidents. On a later occasion I left home and again came on an urgent summons
from Dionysios. But before giving the motives and particulars of my conduct then
and showing how suitable and right it was, I must first, in order that I may not
treat as the main point what is only a side issue, give you my advice as to what
your acts should be in the present position of affairs ; afterwards, to satisfy those
who put the question why I came a second time, I will deal fully with the facts
about my second visit ; what I have now to say is this.
He who advises a sick man, whose manner of life is prejudicial to health, is clearly
bound first of all to change his patient’s manner of life, and if the patient is
willing to obey him, he may go on to give him other advice. But if he is not
willing, I shall consider one who declines to advise such a patient to be a man
and a physician, and one who gives in to him to be unmanly and unprofessional.
In the same way with regard to a State, whether it be under a single ruler or more
than one, if, while the government is being carried on methodically and in a right
course, it asks advice about any details of policy, it is the part of a wise man to
advise such people. But when men are travelling altogether outside the path of
right government and flatly refuse to move in the right path, and start by giving
notice to their adviser that he must leave the government alone and make no
change in it under penalty of death — if such men should order their counsellors
to pander to their wishes and desires and to advise them in what way their object
may most readily and easily be once for all accomplished, I should consider as
unmanly one who accepts the duty of giving such forms of advice, and one who
refuses it to be a true man.
Holding these views, whenever anyone consults me about any of the weightiest
matters affecting his own life, as, for instance, the acquisition of property or the
proper treatment of body or mind, if it seems to me that his daily life rests on any
system, or if he seems likely to listen to advice about the things on which he
consults me, I advise him with readiness, and do not content myself with giving
him a merely perfunctory answer. But if a man does not consult me at all, or
evidently does not intend to follow my advice, I do not take the initiative in
advising such a man, and will not use compulsion to him, even if he be my own
son. I would advise a slave under such circumstances, and would use compulsion
to him if he were unwilling. To a father or mother I do not think that piety allows
one to offer compulsion, unless they are suffering from an attack of insanity ; and
if they are following any regular habits of life which please them but do not
please me, I would not offend them by offering useless, advice, nor would I flatter
them or truckle to them, providing them with the means of satisfying desires
which I myself would sooner die than cherish. The wise man should go through
life with the same attitude of mind towards his country. If she should appear to
him to be following a policy which is not a good one, he should say so, provided
that his words are not likely either to fall on deaf ears or to lead to the loss of his
own life. But force against his native land he should not use in order to bring
about a change of constitution, when it is not possible for the best constitution to
be introduced without driving men into exile or putting them to death ; he
should keep quiet and offer up prayers for his own welfare and for that of his
country.
These are the principles in accordance with which I should advise you, as also,
jointly with Dion, I advised Dionysios, bidding him in the first place to live his
daily life in a way that would make him as far as possible master of himself and
able to gain faithful friends and supporters, in order that he might not have the
same experience as his father. For his father, having taken under his rule many
great cities of Sicily which had been utterly destroyed by the barbarians, was not
able to found them afresh and to establish in them trustworthy governments
carried on by his own supporters, either by men who had no ties of blood with
him, or by his brothers whom he had brought up when they were younger, and
had raised from humble station to high office and from poverty to immense
wealth. Not one of these was he able to work upon by persuasion, instruction,
services and ties of kindred, so as to make him a partner in his rule ; and he
showed himself inferior to Darius with a sevenfold inferiority. For Darius did not
put his trust in brothers or in men whom he had brought up, but only in his
confederates in the overthrow of the Mede and Eunuch ; and to these he
assigned portions of his empire, seven in number, each of them greater than all
Sicily ; and they were faithful to him and did not attack either him or one another.
Thus he showed a pattern of what the good lawgiver and king ought to be ; for
he drew up laws by which he has secured the Persian empire in safety down to
the present time.
Again, to give another instance, the Athenians took under their rule very many
cities not founded by themselves, which had been hard hit by the barbarians but
were still in existence, and maintained their rule over these for seventy years,
because they had in each them men whom they could trust. But Dionysios, who
had gathered the whole of Sicily into a single city, and was so clever that he
trusted no one, only secured his own safety with great difficulty. For he was badly
off for trustworthy friends ; and there is no surer criterion of virtue and vice than
this, whether a man is or is not destitute of such friends.
This, then, was the advice which Dion and I gave to Dionysios, since, owing to
bringing up which he had received from his father, he had had no advantages in
the way of education or of suitable lessons, in the first place... ; and, in the second
place, that, after starting in this way, he should make friends of others among his
connections who were of the same age and were in sympathy with his pursuit of
virtue, but above all that he should be in harmony with himself ; for this it was of
which he was remarkably in need. This we did not say in plain words, for that
would not have been safe ; but in covert language we maintained that every man
in this way would save both himself and those whom he was leading, and if he
did not follow this path, he would do just the opposite of this. And after
proceeding on the course which we described, and making himself a wise and
temperate man, if he were then to found again the cities of Sicily which had been
laid waste, and bind them together by laws and constitutions, so as to be loyal to
him and to one another in their resistance to the attacks of the barbarians, he
would, we told him, make his father’s empire not merely double what it was but
many times greater. For, if these things were done, his way would be clear to a
more complete subjugation of the Carthaginians than that which befell them in
Gelon’s time, whereas in our own day his father had followed the opposite course
of levying attribute for the barbarians. This was the language and these the
exhortations given by us, the conspirators against Dionysios according to the
charges circulated from various sources — charges which, prevailing as they did
with Dionysios, caused the expulsion of Dion and reduced me to a state of
apprehension. But when — to summarise great events which happened in no
great time — Dion returned from the Peloponnese and Athens, his advice to
Dionysios took the form of action.
To proceed — when Dion had twice over delivered the city and restored it to the
citizens, the Syracusans went through the same changes of feeling towards him
as Dionysios had gone through, when Dion attempted first to educate him and
train him to be a sovereign worthy of supreme power and, when that was done,
to be his coadjutor in all the details of his career. Dionysios listened to those who
circulated slanders to the effect that Dion was aiming at the tyranny in all the
steps which he took at that time his intention being that Dionysios, when his
mind had fallen under the spell of culture, should neglect the government and
leave it in his hands, and that he should then appropriate it for himself and
treacherously depose Dionysios. These slanders were victorious on that occasion ;
they were so once more when circulated among the Syracusans, winning a victory
which took an extraordinary course and proved disgraceful to its authors. The
story of what then took place is one which deserves careful attention on the part
of those who are inviting me to deal with the present situation.
I, an Athenian and friend of Dion, came as his ally to the court of Dionysios, in
order that I might create good will in place of a state war ; in my conflict with the
authors of these slanders I was worsted. When Dionysios tried to persuade me by
offers of honours and wealth to attach myself to him, and with a view to giving a
decent colour to Dion’s expulsion a witness and friend on his side, he failed
completely in his attempt. Later on, when Dion returned from exile, he took with
him from Athens two brothers, who had been his friends, not from community in
philosophic study, but with the ordinary companionship common among most
friends, which they form as the result of relations of hospitality and the
intercourse which occurs when one man initiates the other in the mysteries. It was
from this kind of intercourse and from services connected with his return that
these two helpers in his restoration became his companions. Having come to
Sicily, when they perceived that Dion had been misrepresented to the Sicilian
Greeks, whom he had liberated, as one that plotted to become monarch, they not
only betrayed their companion and friend, but shared personally in the guilt of
his murder, standing by his murderers as supporters with weapons in their hands.
The guilt and impiety of their conduct I neither excuse nor do I dwell upon it. For
many others make it their business to harp upon it, and will make it their business
in the future. But I do take exception to the statement that, because they were
Athenians, they have brought shame upon this city. For I say that he too is an
Athenian who refused to betray this same Dion, when he had the offer of riches
and many other honours. For his was no common or vulgar friendship, but rested
on community in liberal education, and this is the one thing in which a wise man
will put his trust, far more than in ties of personal and bodily kinship. So the two
murderers of Dion were not of sufficient importance to be causes of disgrace to
this city, as though they had been men of any note.
All this has been said with a view to counselling the friends and family of Dion.
And in addition to this I give for the third time to you the same advice and
counsel which I have given twice before to others — not to enslave Sicily or any
other State to despots — this my counsel but — to put it under the rule of laws
— for the other course is better neither for the enslavers nor for the enslaved, for
themselves, their children’s children and descendants ; the attempt is in every
way fraught with disaster. It is only small and mean natures that are bent upon
seizing such gains for themselves, natures that know nothing of goodness and
justice, divine as well as human, in this life and in the next.
These are the lessons which I tried to teach, first to Dion, secondly to Dionysios,
and now for the third time to you. Do you obey me thinking of Zeus the
Preserver, the patron of third ventures, and looking at the lot of Dionysios and
Dion, of whom the one who disobeyed me is living in dishonour, while he who
obeyed me has died honourably. For the one thing which is wholly right and
noble is to strive for that which is most honourable for a man’s self and for his
country, and to face the consequences whatever they may be. For none of us can
escape death, nor, if a man could do so, would it, as the vulgar suppose, make
him happy. For nothing evil or good, which is worth mentioning at all, belongs to
things soulless ; but good or evil will be the portion of every soul, either while
attached to the body or when separated from it.
And we should in very truth always believe those ancient and sacred teachings,
which declare that the soul is immortal, that it has judges, and suffers the
greatest penalties when it has been separated from the body. Therefore also we
should consider it a lesser evil to suffer great wrongs and outrages than to do
them. The covetous man, impoverished as he is in the soul, turns a deaf ear to
this teaching ; or if he hears it, he laughs it to scorn with fancied superiority, and
shamelessly snatches for himself from every source whatever his bestial fancy
supposes will provide for him the means of eating or drinking or glutting himself
with that slavish and gross pleasure which is falsely called after the goddess of
love. He is blind and cannot see in those acts of plunder which are accompanied
by impiety what heinous guilt is attached to each wrongful deed, and that the
offender must drag with him the burden of this impiety while he moves about on
earth, and when he has travelled beneath the earth on a journey which has every
circumstance of shame and misery.
It was by urging these and other like truths that I convinced Dion, and it is I who
have the best right to be angered with his murderers in much the same way as I
have with Dionysios. For both they and he have done the greatest injury to me,
and I might almost say to all mankind, they by slaying the man that was willing to
act righteously, and he by refusing to act righteously during the whole of his rule,
when he held supreme power, in which rule if philosophy and power had really
met together, it would have sent forth a light to all men, Greeks and barbarians,
establishing fully for all the true belief that there can be no happiness either for
the community or for the individual man, unless he passes his life under the rule
of righteousness with the guidance of wisdom, either possessing these virtues in
himself, or living under the rule of godly men and having received a right training
and education in morals. These were the aims which Dionysios injured, and for
me everything else is a trifling injury compared with this.
The murderer of Dion has, without knowing it, done the same as Dionysios. For as
regards Dion, I know right well, so far as it is possible for a man to say anything
positively about other men, that, if he had got the supreme power, he would
never have turned his mind to any other form of rule, but that, dealing first with
Syracuse, his own native land, when he had made an end of her slavery, clothed
her in bright apparel, and given her the garb of freedom, he would then by every
means in his power have ordered aright the lives of his fellow-citizens by suitable
and excellent laws ; and the thing next in order, which he would have set his heart
to accomplish, was to found again all the States of Sicily and make them free
from the barbarians, driving out some and subduing others, an easier task for
him than it was for Hiero. If these things had been accomplished by a man who
was just and brave and temperate and a philosopher, the same belief with regard
to virtue would have been established among the majority which, if Dionysios
had been won over, would have been established, I might almost say, among all
mankind and would have given them salvation. But now some higher power or
avenging fiend has fallen upon them, inspiring them with lawlessness,
godlessness and acts of recklessness issuing from ignorance, the seed from which
all evils for all mankind take root and grow and will in future bear the bitterest
harvest for those who brought them into being. This ignorance it was which in
that second venture wrecked and ruined everything.
And now, for good luck’s sake, let us on this third venture abstain from words of
ill omen. But, nevertheless, I advise you, his friends, to imitate in Dion his love for
his country and his temperate habits of daily life, and to try with better auspices
to carry out his wishes — what these were, you have heard from me in plain
words. And whoever among you cannot live the simple Dorian life according to
the customs of your forefathers, but follows the manner of life of Dion’s
murderers and of the Sicilians, do not invite this man to join you, or expect him to
do any loyal or salutary act ; but invite all others to the work of resettling all the
States of Sicily and establishing equality under the laws, summoning them from
Sicily itself and from the whole Peloponnese — and have no fear even of Athens ;
for there, also, are men who excel all mankind in their devotion to virtue and in
hatred of the reckless acts of those who shed the blood of friends.
But if, after all, this is work for a future time, whereas immediate action is called
for by the disorders of all sorts and kinds which arise every day from your state of
civil strife, every man to whom Providence has given even a moderate share of
right intelligence ought to know that in times of civil strife there is no respite
from trouble till the victors make an end of feeding their grudge by combats and
banishments and executions, and of wreaking their vengeance on their enemies.
They should master themselves and, enacting impartial laws, framed not to
gratify themselves more than the conquered party, should compel men to obey
these by two restraining forces, respect and fear ; fear, because they are the
masters and can display superior force ; respect, because they rise superior to
pleasures and are willing and able to be servants to the laws. There is no other
way save this for terminating the troubles of a city that is in a state of civil strife ;
but a constant continuance of internal disorders, struggles, hatred and mutual
distrust is the common lot of cities which are in that plight.
Therefore, those who have for the time being gained the upper hand, when they
desire to secure their position, must by their own act and choice select from all
Hellas men whom they have ascertained to be the best for the purpose. These
must in the first place be men of mature years, who have children and wives at
home, and, as far as possible, a long line of ancestors of good repute, and all
must be possessed of sufficient property. For a city of ten thousand householders
their numbers should be fifty ; that is enough. These they must induce to come
from their own homes by entreaties and the promise of the highest honours ; and
having induced them to come they must entreat and command them to draw up
laws after binding themselves by oath to show no partiality either to conquerors
or to conquered, but to give equal and common rights to the whole State.
When laws have been enacted, what everything then hinges on is this. If the
conquerors show more obedience to the laws than the conquered, the whole
State will be full of security and happiness, and there will be an escape from all
your troubles. But if they do not, then do not summon me or any other helper to
aid you against those who do not obey the counsel I now give you. For this
course is akin to that which Dion and I attempted to carry out with our hearts set
on the welfare of Syracuse. It is indeed a second best course. The first and best
was that scheme of welfare to all mankind which we attempted to carry out with
the co-operation of Dionysios ; but some chance, mightier than men, brought it
to nothing. Do you now, with good fortune attending you and with Heaven’s
help, try to bring your efforts to a happier issue.
Let this be the end of my advice and injunction and of the narrative of my first
visit to Dionysios. Whoever wishes may next hear of my second journey and
voyage, and learn that it was a reasonable and suitable proceeding. My first
period of residence in Sicily was occupied in the way which I related before giving
my advice to the relatives and friends of Dion. After those events I persuaded
Dionysios by such arguments as I could to let me go ; and we made an
agreement as to what should be done when peace was made ; for at that time
there was a state of war in Sicily. Dionysios said that, when he had put the affairs
of his empire in a position of greater safety for himself, he would send for Dion
and me again ; and he desired that Dion should regard what had befallen him not
as an exile, but as a change of residence. I agreed to come again on these
conditions.
When peace had been made, he began sending for me ; he requested that Dion
should wait for another year, but begged that I should by all means come. Dion
now kept urging and entreating me to go. For persistent rumours came from
Sicily that Dionysios was now once more possessed by an extraordinary desire for
philosophy. For this reason Dion pressed me urgently not to decline his
invitation. But though I was well aware that as regards philosophy such
symptoms were not uncommon in young men, still it seemed to me safer at that
time to part company altogether with Dion and Dionysios ; and I offended both
of them by replying that I was an old man, and that the steps now being taken
were quite at variance with the previous agreement.
After this, it seems, Archytes came to the court of Dionysios. Before my departure
I had brought him and his Tarentine circle into friendly relations with Dionysios.
There were some others in Syracuse who had received some instruction from
Dion, and others had learnt from these, getting their heads full of erroneous
teaching on philosophical questions. These, it seems, were attempting to hold
discussions with Dionysios on questions connected with such subjects, in the idea
that he had been fully instructed in my views. Now is not at all devoid of natural
gifts for learning, and he has a great craving for honour and glory. What was said
probably pleased him, and he felt some shame when it became clear that he had
not taken advantage of my teaching during my visit. For these reasons he
conceived a desire for more definite instruction, and his love of glory was an
additional incentive to him. The real reasons why he had learnt nothing during
my previous visit have just been set forth in the preceding narrative. Accordingly,
now that I was safe at home and had refused his second invitation, as I just now
related, Dionysios seems to have felt all manner of anxiety lest certain people
should suppose that I was unwilling to visit him again because I had formed a
poor opinion of his natural gifts and character, and because, knowing as I did his
manner of life, I disapproved of it.
It is right for me to speak the truth, and make no complaint if anyone, after
hearing the facts, forms a poor opinion of my philosophy, and thinks that the
tyrant was in the right. Dionysios now invited me for the third time, sending a
trireme to ensure me comfort on the voyage ; he sent also Archedemos — one of
those who had spent some time with Archytes, and of whom he supposed that I
had a higher opinion than of any of the Sicilian Greeks — and, with him, other
men of repute in Sicily. These all brought the same report, that Dionysios had
made progress in philosophy. He also sent a very long letter, knowing as he did
my relations with Dion and Dion’s eagerness also that I should take ship and go
to Syracuse. The letter was framed in its opening sentences to meet all these
conditions, and the tenor of it was as follows : “Dionysios to Plato,” here followed
the customary greeting and immediately after it he said, “If in compliance with
our request you come now, in the first place, Dion’s affairs will be dealt with in
whatever way you yourself desire ; I know that you will desire what is reasonable,
and I shall consent to it. But if not, none of Dion’s affairs will have results in
accordance with your wishes, with regard either to Dion himself or to other
matters.” This he said in these words ; the rest it would be tedious and
inopportune to quote. Other letters arrived from Archytes and the Tarentines,
praising the philosophical studies of Dionysios and saying that, if I did not now
come, I should cause a complete rupture in their friendship with Dionysios, which
had been brought about by me and was of no small importance to their political
interests.
When this invitation came to me at that time in such terms, and those who had
come from Sicily and Italy were trying to drag me thither, while my friends at
Athens were literally pushing me out with their urgent entreaties, it was the same
old tale — that I must not betray Dion and my Tarentine friends and supporters.
Also I myself had a lurking feeling that there was nothing surprising in the fact
that a young man, quick to learn, hearing talk of the great truths of philosophy,
should feel a craving for the higher life. I thought therefore that I must put the
matter definitely to the test to see whether his desire was genuine or the reverse,
and on no account leave such an impulse unaided nor make myself responsible
for such a deep and real disgrace, if the reports brought by anyone were really
true. So blindfolding myself with this reflection, I set out, with many fears and
with no very favourable anticipations, as was natural enough. However, I went,
and my action on this occasion at any rate was really a case of “the third to the
Preserver,” for I had the good fortune to return safely ; and for this I must, next to
the God, thank Dionysios, because, though many wished to make an end of me,
he prevented them and paid some proper respect to my situation.
On my arrival, I thought that first I must put to the test the question whether
Dionysios had really been kindled with the fire of philosophy, or whether all the
reports which had come to Athens were empty rumours. Now there is a way of
putting such things to the test which is not to be despised and is well suited to
monarchs, especially to those who have got their heads full of erroneous
teaching, which immediately my arrival I found to be very much the case with
Dionysios. One should show such men what philosophy is in all its extent ; what
their range of studies is by which it is approached, and how much labour it
involves. For the man who has heard this, if he has the true philosophic spirit and
that godlike temperament which makes him a kin to philosophy and worthy of it,
thinks that he has been told of a marvellous road lying before him, that he must
forthwith press on with all his strength, and that life is not worth living if he does
anything else. After this he uses to the full his own powers and those of his guide
in the path, and relaxes not his efforts, till he has either reached the end of the
whole course of study or gained such power that he is not incapable of directing
his steps without the aid of a guide. This is the spirit and these are the thoughts
by which such a man guides his life, carrying out his work, whatever his
occupation may be, but throughout it all ever cleaving to philosophy and to such
rules of diet in his daily life as will give him inward sobriety and therewith
quickness in learning, a good memory, and reasoning power ; the kind of life
which is opposed to this he consistently hates. Those who have not the true
philosophic temper, but a mere surface colouring of opinions penetrating, like
sunburn, only skin deep, when they see how great the range of studies is, how
much labour is involved in it, and how necessary to the pursuit it is to have an
orderly regulation of the daily life, come to the conclusion that the thing is
difficult and impossible for them, and are actually incapable of carrying out the
course of study ; while some of them persuade themselves that they have
sufficiently studied the whole matter and have no need of any further effort. This
is the sure test and is the safest one to apply to those who live in luxury and are
incapable of continuous effort ; it ensures that such a man shall not throw the
blame upon his teacher but on himself, because he cannot bring to the pursuit all
the qualities necessary to it. Thus it came about that I said to Dionysios what I did
say on that occasion.
I did not, however, give a complete exposition, nor did Dionysios ask for one. For
he professed to know many, and those the most important, points, and to have a
sufficient hold of them through instruction given by others. I hear also that he
has since written about what he heard from me, composing what professes to be
his own handbook, very different, so he says, from the doctrines which he heard
from me ; but of its contents I know nothing ; I know indeed that others have
written on the same subjects ; but who they are, is more than they know
themselves. Thus much at least, I can say about all writers, past or future, who say
they know the things to which I devote myself, whether by hearing the teaching
of me or of others, or by their own discoveries — that according to my view it is
not possible for them to have any real skill in the matter. There neither is nor ever
will be a treatise of mine on the subject. For it does not admit of exposition like
other branches of knowledge ; but after much converse about the matter itself
and a life lived together, suddenly a light, as it were, is kindled in one soul by a
flame that leaps to it from another, and thereafter sustains itself. Yet this much I
know — that if the things were written or put into words, it would be done best
by me, and that, if they were written badly, I should be the person most pained.
Again, if they had appeared to me to admit adequately of writing and exposition,
what task in life could I have performed nobler than this, to write what is of great
service to mankind and to bring the nature of things into the light for all to see ?
But I do not think it a good thing for men that there should be a disquisition, as it
is called, on this topic — except for some few, who are able with a little teaching
to find it out for themselves. As for the rest, it would fill some of them quite
illogically with a mistaken feeling of contempt, and others with lofty and vainglorious
expectations, as though they had learnt something high and mighty.
On this point I intend to speak a little more at length ; for perhaps, when I have
done so, things will be clearer with regard to my present subject. There is an
argument which holds good against the man ventures to put anything whatever
into writing on questions of this nature ; it has often before been stated by me,
and it seems suitable to the present occasion.
For everything that exists there are three instruments by which the knowledge of
it is necessarily imparted ; fourth, there is the knowledge itself, and, as fifth, we
must count the thing itself which is known and truly exists. The first is the name,
the, second the definition, the third. the image, and the fourth the knowledge. If
you wish to learn what I mean, take these in the case of one instance, and so
understand them in the case of all. A circle is a thing spoken of, and its name is
that very word which we have just uttered. The second thing belonging to it is its
definition, made up names and verbal forms. For that which has the name
“round,” “annular,” or, “circle,” might be defined as that which has the distance
from its circumference to its centre everywhere equal. Third, comes that which is
drawn and rubbed out again, or turned on a lathe and broken up — none of
which things can happen to the circle itself — to which the other things,
mentioned have reference ; for it is something of a different order from them.
Fourth, comes knowledge, intelligence and right opinion about these things.
Under this one head we must group everything which has its existence, not in
words nor in bodily shapes, but in souls — from which it is dear that it is
something different from the nature of the circle itself and from the three things
mentioned before. Of these things intelligence comes closest in kinship and
likeness to the fifth, and the others are farther distant.
The same applies to straight as well as to circular form, to colours, to the good,
the, beautiful, the just, to all bodies whether manufactured or coming into being
in the course of nature, to fire, water, and all such things, to every living being, to
character in souls, and to all things done and suffered. For in the case of all these,
no one, if he has not some how or other got hold of the four things first
mentioned, can ever be completely a partaker of knowledge of the fifth. Further,
on account of the weakness of language, these (i.e., the four) attempt to show
what each thing is like, not less than what each thing is. For this reason no man of
intelligence will venture to express his philosophical views in language, especially
not in language that is unchangeable, which is true of that which is set down in
written characters.
Again you must learn the point which comes next. Every circle, of those which are
by the act of man drawn or even turned on a lathe, is full of that which is
opposite to the fifth thing. For everywhere it has contact with the straight. But the
circle itself, we say, has nothing in either smaller or greater, of that which is its
opposite. We say also that the name is not a thing of permanence for any of
them, and that nothing prevents the things now called round from being called
straight, and the straight things round ; for those who make changes and call
things by opposite names, nothing will be less permanent (than a name). Again
with regard to the definition, if it is made up of names and verbal forms, the
same remark holds that there is no sufficiently durable permanence in it. And
there is no end to the instances of the ambiguity from which each of the four
suffers ; but the greatest of them is that which we mentioned a little earlier, that,
whereas there are two things, that which has real being, and that which is only a
quality, when the soul is seeking to know, not the quality, but the essence, each
of the four, presenting to the soul by word and in act that which it is not seeking
(i.e., the quality), a thing open to refutation by the senses, being merely the thing
presented to the soul in each particular case whether by statement or the act of
showing, fills, one may say, every man with puzzlement and perplexity.
Now in subjects in which, by reason of our defective education, we have not been
accustomed even to search for the truth, but are satisfied with whatever images
are presented to us, we are not held up to ridicule by one another, the
questioned by questioners, who can pull to pieces and criticise the four things.
But in subjects where we try to compel a man to give a clear answer about the
fifth, any one of those who are capable of overthrowing an antagonist gets the
better of us, and makes the man, who gives an exposition in speech or writing or
in replies to questions, appear to most of his hearers to know nothing of the
things on which he is attempting to write or speak ; for they are sometimes not
aware that it is not the mind of the writer or speaker which is proved to be at
fault, but the defective nature of each of the four instruments. The process
however of dealing with all of these, as the mind moves up and down to each in
turn, does after much effort give birth in a well-constituted mind to knowledge of
that which is well constituted. But if a man is ill-constituted by nature (as the state
of the soul is naturally in the majority both in its capacity for learning and in what
is called moral character) — or it may have become so by deterioration — not
even Lynceus could endow such men with the power of sight.
In one word, the man who has no natural kinship with this matter cannot be
made akin to it by quickness of learning or memory ; for it cannot be engendered
at all in natures which are foreign to it. Therefore, if men are not by nature
kinship allied to justice and all other things that are honourable, though they may
be good at learning and remembering other knowledge of various kinds — or if
they have the kinship but are slow learners and have no memory — none of all
these will ever learn to the full the truth about virtue and vice. For both must be
learnt together ; and together also must be learnt, by complete and long
continued study, as I said at the beginning, the true and the false about all that
has real being. After much effort, as names, definitions, sights, and other data of
sense, are brought into contact and friction one with another, in the course of
scrutiny and kindly testing by men who proceed by question and answer without
ill will, with a sudden flash there shines forth understanding about every problem,
and an intelligence whose efforts reach the furthest limits of human powers.
Therefore every man of worth, when dealing with matters of worth, will be far
from exposing them to ill feeling and misunderstanding among men by
committing them to writing. In one word, then, it may be known from this that, if
one sees written treatises composed by anyone, either the laws of a lawgiver, or
in any other form whatever, these are not for that man the things of most worth,
if he is a man of worth, but that his treasures are laid up in the fairest spot that he
possesses. But if these things were worked at by him as things of real worth, and
committed to writing, then surely, not gods, but men “have themselves bereft
him of his wits.”
Anyone who has followed this discourse and digression will know well that, if
Dionysios or anyone else, great or small, has written a treatise on the highest
matters and the first principles of things, he has, so I say, neither heard nor learnt
any sound teaching about the subject of his treatise ; otherwise, he would have
had the same reverence for it, which I have, and would have shrunk from putting
it forth into a world of discord and uncomeliness. For he wrote it, not as an aid to
memory — since there is no risk of forgetting it, if a man’s soul has once laid hold
of it ; for it is expressed in the shortest of statements — but if he wrote it at all, it
was from a mean craving for honour, either putting it forth as his own invention,
or to figure as a man possessed of culture, of which he was not worthy, if his
heart was set on the credit of possessing it. If then Dionysios gained this culture
from the one lesson which he had from me, we may perhaps grant him the
possession of it, though how he acquired it — God wot, as the Theban says ; for I
gave him the teaching, which I have described, on that one occasion and never
again.
The next point which requires to be made clear to anyone who wishes to discover
how things really happened, is the reason why it came about that I did not
continue my teaching in a second and third lesson and yet oftener. Does
Dionysios, after a single lesson, believe himself to know the matter, and has he an
adequate knowledge of it, either as having discovered it for himself or learnt it
before from others, or does he believe my teaching to be worthless, or, thirdly, to
be beyond his range and too great for him, and himself to be really unable to live
as one who gives his mind to wisdom and virtue ? For if he thinks it worthless, he
will have to contend with many who say the opposite, and who would be held in
far higher repute as judges than Dionysios, if on the other hand, he thinks he has
discovered or learnt the things and that they are worth having as part of a liberal
education, how could he, unless he is an extraordinary person, have so recklessly
dishonoured the master who has led the way in these subjects ? How he
dishonoured him, I will now state.
Up to this time he had allowed Dion to remain in possession of his property and
to receive the income from it. But not long after the foregoing events, as if he
had entirely forgotten his letter to that effect, he no longer allowed Dion’s
trustees to send him remittances to the Peloponnese, on the pretence that the
owner of the property was not Dion but Dion’s son, his own nephew, of whom he
himself was legally the trustee. These were the actual facts which occurred up to
the point which we have reached. They had opened my eyes as to the value of
Dionysios’ desire for philosophy, and I had every right to complain, whether I
wished to do so or not. Now by this time it was summer and the season for sea
voyages ; therefore I decided that I must not be vexed with Dionysios rather than
with myself and those who had forced me to come for the third time into the
strait of Scylla, that once again I might to fell Charybdis measure back my course,
but must tell Dionysios that it was impossible for me to remain after this outrage
had been put upon Dion. He tried to soothe me and begged me to remain, not
thinking it desirable for himself that I should arrive post haste in person as the
bearer of such tidings. When his entreaties produced no effect, he promised that
he himself would provide me with transport. For my intention was to embark on
one of the trading ships and sail away, being indignant and thinking it my duty to
face all dangers, in case I was prevented from going — since plainly and
obviously I was doing no wrong, but was the party wronged.
Seeing me not at all inclined to stay, he devised the following scheme to make
me stay during that sading season. On the next day he came to me and made a
plausible proposal : “Let us put an end,” he said, “to these constant quarrels
between you and me about Dion and his affairs. For your sake I will do this for
Dion. I require him to take his own property and reside in the Peloponnese, not
as an exile, but on the understanding that it is open for him to migrate here,
when this step has the joint approval of himself, me, and you his friends ; and this
shall be open to him on the understanding that he does not plot against me. You
and your friends and Dion’s friends here must be sureties for him in this, and he
must give you security. Let the funds which he receives be deposited in the
Peloponnese and at Athens, with persons approved by you, and let Dion enjoy
the income from them but have no power to take them out of deposit without
the approval of you and your friends. For I have no great confidence in him, that,
if he has this property at his disposal, he will act justly towards me, for it will be
no small amount ; but I have more confidence in you and your friends. See if this
satisfies you ; and on these conditions remain for the present year, and at the
next season you shall depart taking the property with you. I am quite sure that
Dion will be grateful to you, if you accomplish so much on his behalf.”
When I heard this proposal I was vexed, but after reflection said I would let him
know my view of it on the following day. We agreed to that effect for the
moment, and afterwards when I was by myself I pondered the matter in much
distress. The first reflection that came up, leading the way in my self-communing,
was this : “Come suppose that Dionysios intends to do none of the things which
he has mentioned, but that, after my departure, he writes a plausible letter to
Dion, and orders several of his creatures to write to the same effect, telling him of
the proposal which he has now made to me, making out that he was willing to do
what he proposed, but that I refused and completely neglected Dion’s interests.
Further, suppose that he is not willing to allow my departure, and without giving
personal orders to any of the merchants, makes it clear, as he easily can, to all
that he not wish me to sail, will anyone consent to take me as a passenger, when
I leave the house : of Dionysios ?”
For in addition to my other troubles, I was lodging at that time in the garden
which surround his house, from which even the gatekeeper would have refused
to let me go, unless an order had been sent to him from Dionysios. “Suppose
however that I wait for the year, I shall be able to write word of these things to
Dion, stating the position in which I am, and the steps which I am trying to take.
And if Dionysios does any of the things which he says, I shall have accomplished
something that is not altogether to be sneered at ; for Dion’s property is, at a fair
estimate, perhaps not less than a hundred talents. If however the prospect which
I see looming in the future takes the course which may reasonably be expected, I
know not what I shall do with myself. Still it is perhaps necessary to go on
working for a year, and to attempt to prove by actual fact the machinations of
Dionysios.”
Having come to this decision, on the following day I said to Dionysios, “I have
decided to remain. But,” I continued, “I must ask that you will not regard me as
empowered to act for Dion, but will along with me write a letter to him, stating
what has now been decided, and enquire whether this course satisfies him. If it
does not, and if he has other wishes and demands, he must write particulars of
them as soon as possible, and you must not as yet take any hasty step with
regard to his interests.”
This was what was said and this was the agreement which was made, almost in
these words. Well, after this the trading-ships took their departure, and it was no
longer possible for me to take mine, when Dionysios, if you please, addressed me
with the remark that half the property must be regarded as belonging to Dion
and half to his son. Therefore, he said, he would sell it, and when it was sold
would give half to me to take away, and would leave half on the spot for the son.
This course, he said, was the most just. This proposal was a blow to me, and I
thought it absurd to argue any longer with him ; however, I said that we must
wait for Dion’s letter, and then once more write to tell him of this new proposal.
His next step was the brilliant one of selling the whole of Dion’s property, using
his own discretion with regard to the manner and terms of the sale and of the
purchasers. He spoke not a word to me about the matter from beginning to end,
and I followed his example and never talked to him again about Dion’s affairs ;
for I did not think that I could do any good by doing so. This is the history so far
of my efforts to come to the rescue of philosophy and of my friends.
After this Dionysios and I went on with our daily life, I with my eyes turned
abroad like a bird yearning to fly from its perch, and he always devising some
new way of scaring me back and of keeping a tight hold on Dion’s property.
However, we gave out to all Sicily that we were friends. Dionysios, now deserting
the policy of his father, attempted to lower the pay of the older members of his
body guard. The soldiers were furious, and, assembling in great numbers,
declared that they would not submit. He attempted to use force to them,
shutting the gates of the acropolis ; but they charged straight for the walls,
yelling out an unintelligible and ferocious war cry. Dionysios took fright and
conceded all their demands and more to the peltasts then assembled.
A rumour soon spread that Heracleides had been the cause of all the trouble.
Hearing this, Heracleides kept out of the way. Dionysios was trying to get hold of
him, and being unable to do so, sent for Theodotes to come to him in his garden.
It happened that I was walking in the garden at the same time. I neither know nor
did I hear the rest of what passed between them, but what Theodotes said to
Dionysios in my presence I know and remember. “Plato,” he said, “I am trying to
convince our friend Dionysios that, if I am able to bring Heracleides before us to
defend himself on the charges which have been made against him, and if he
decides that Heracleides must no longer live in Sicily, he should be allowed (this
is my point) to take his son and wife and sail to the Peloponnese and reside
there, taking no action there against Dionysios and enjoying the income of his
property. I have already sent for him and will send for him again ; and if he comes
in obedience either to my former message or to this one — well and good. But I
beg and entreat Dionysios that, if anyone finds Heracleides either in the country
or here, no harm shall come to him, but that he may retire from the country till
Dionysios comes to some other decision. Do you agree to this ?” he added,
addressing Dionysios. “I agree,” he replied, “that even if he is found at your
house, no harm shall be done to him beyond what has now been said.”
On the following day Eurybios and Theodotes came to me in the evening, both
greatly disturbed. Theodotes said, “Plato, you were present yesterday during the
promises made by Dionysios to me and to you about Heracleides ?” “Certainly,” I
replied. “Well,” he continued, “at this moment peltasts are scouring the country
seeking to arrest Heracleides ; and he must be somewhere in this
neighbourhood. For Heaven’s sake come with us to Dionysios.” So we went and
stood in the presence of Dionysios ; and those two stood shedding silent tears,
while I said : “These men are afraid that you may take strong measures with
regard to Heracleides contrary to what was agreed yesterday. For it seems that he
has returned and has been seen somewhere about here.” On hearing this he
blazed up and turned all colours, as a man would in a rage. Theodotes, falling
before him in tears, took his hand and entreated him to do nothing of the sort.
But I broke in and tried to encourage him, saying : “Be of good cheer, Theodotes ;
Dionysios will not have the heart to take any fresh step contrary to his promises
of yesterday.” Fixing his eye on me, and assuming his most autocratic air he said,
“To you I promised nothing small or great.” “By the gods,” I said, “you did
promise that forbearance for which our friend here now appeals.” With these
words I turned away and went out. After this he continued the hunt for
Heracleides, and Theodotes, sending messages, urged Heracleides to take flight.
Dionysios sent out Teisias and some peltasts with orders to pursue him. But
Heracleides, as it was said, was just in time, by a small fraction of a day, in making
his escape into Carthaginian territory.
After this Dionysios thought that his long cherished scheme not to restore Dion’s
property would give him a plausible excuse for hostility towards me ; and first of
all he sent me out of the acropolis, finding a pretext that the women were
obliged to hold a sacrificial service for ten days in the garden in which I had my
lodging. He therefore ordered me to stay outside in the house of Archedemos
during this period. While I was there, Theodotes sent for me and made a great
outpouring of indignation at these occurrences, throwing the blame on
Dionysios. Hearing that I had been to see Theodotes he regarded this, as another
excuse, sister to the previous one, for quarrelling with me. Sending a messenger
he enquired if I had really been conferring with Theodotes on his invitation
“Certainly,” I replied, “Well,” continued the messenger, “he ordered me to tell you
that you are not acting at all well in preferring always Dion and Dion’s friends to
him.” And he did not send for me to return to his house, as though it were now
clear that Theodotes and Heracleides were my friends, and he my enemy. He also
thought that I had no kind feelings towards him because the property of Dion
was now entirely done for.
After this I resided outside the acropolis among the mercenaries. Various people
then came to me, among them those of the ships’ crews who came from Athens,
my own fellow citizens, and reported that I was evil spoken of among the
peltasts, and that some of them were threatening to make an end of me, if they
could ket hold of me Accordingly I devised the following plan for my safety.
I sent to Archytes and my other friends in Taras, telling them the plight I was in.
Finding some excuse for an embassy from their city, they sent a thirty-oared
galley with Lamiscos, one of themselves, who came and entreated Dionysios
about me, saying that I wanted to go, and that he should on no account stand in
my way. He consented and allowed me to go, giving me money for the journey.
But for Dion’s property I made no further request, nor was any of it restored.
I made my way to the Peloponnese to Olympia, where I found Dion a spectator at
the Games, and told him what had occurred. Calling Zeus to be his witness, he at
once urged me with my relatives and friends to make preparations for taking
vengeance on Dionysios — our ground for action being the breach of faith to a
guest — so he put it and regarded it, while his own was his unjust expulsion and
banishment. Hearing this, I told him that he might call my friends to his aid, if
they wished to go ; “But for myself,” I continued, “you and others in a way forced
me to be the sharer of Dionysios’ table and hearth and his associate in the acts of
religion. He probably believed the current slanders, that I was plotting with you
against him and his despotic rule ; yet feelings of scruple prevailed with him, and
he spared my life. Again, I am hardly of the age for being comrade in arms to
anyone ; also I stand as a neutral between you, if ever you desire friendship and
wish to benefit one another ; so long as you aim at injuring one another, call
others to your aid.” This I said, because I was disgusted with my misguided
journeyings to Sicily and my ill-fortune there. But they disobeyed me and would
not listen to my attempts at reconciliation, and so brought on their own heads all
the evils which have since taken place. For if Dionysios had restored to Dion his
property or been reconciled with him on any terms, none of these things would
have happened, so far as human foresight can foretell. Dion would have easily
been kept in check by my wishes and influence. But now, rushing upon one
another, they have caused universal disaster.
Dion’s aspiration however was the same that I should say my own or that of any
other right-minded man ought to be. With regard to his own power, his friends
and his country the ideal of such a man would be to win the greatest power and
honour by rendering the greatest services. And this end is not attained if a man
gets riches for himself, his supporters and his country, by forming plots and
getting together conspirators, being all the while a poor creature, not master of
himself, overcome by the cowardice which fears to fight against pleasures ; nor is
it attained if he goes on to kill the men of substance, whom he speaks of as the
enemy, and to plunder their possessions, and invites his confederates and
supporters to do the same, with the object that no one shall say that it is his fault,
if he complains of being poor. The same is true if anyone renders services of this
kind to the State and receives honours from her for distributing by decrees the
property of the few among the many — or if, being in charge the affairs of a
great State which rules over many small ones, he unjustly appropriates to his own
State the possessions of the small ones. For neither a Dion nor any other man
will, with his eyes open, make his way by steps like these to a power which will be
fraught with destruction to himself and his descendants for all time ; but he will
advance towards constitutional government and the framing of the justest and
best laws, reaching these ends without executions and murders even on the
smallest scale.
This course Dion actually followed, thinking it preferable to suffer iniquitous
deeds rather than to do them ; but, while taking precautions against them, he
nevertheless, when he had reached the climax of victory over his enemies, took a
false step and fell, a catastrophe not at all surprising. For a man of piety,
temperance and wisdom, when dealing with the impious, would not be entirely
blind to the character of such men, but it would perhaps not be surprising if he
suffered the catastrophe that might befall a good ship’s captain, who would not
be entirely unaware of the approach of a storm, but might be unaware of its
extraordinary and startling violence, and might therefore be overwhelmed by its
force. The same thing caused Dion’s downfall. For he was not unaware that his
assailants were thoroughly bad men, but he was unaware how high a pitch of
infatuation and of general wickedness and greed they had reached. This was the
cause of his downfall, which has involved Sicily in countless sorrows.
What counsel I have to offer, after this narrative of events, [7.352a] has been given
already, and so let it suffice. But I deemed it necessary to explain the reasons why
I undertook my second journey to Sicily because absurd and irrational stories are
being told about it. If, therefore, the account I have now given appears to anyone
more rational, and if anyone believes that it supplies sufficient excuses for what
took place, then I shall regard that account as both reasonable and sufficient.
LETTER VIII
[8.352b] Plato to the relatives and companions of Dion wishes well-doing.
The policy which would best serve to secure your real “well-doing” is that which I
shall now endeavor as best I can to describe to you. And I hope that my advice
will not only be salutary to you (though to you in special), but also [8.352c] to all
the Syracusans, in the second place, and, in the third, to your enemies and your
foes, unless any of them be a doer of impious deeds ; for such deeds are
irremediable and none could ever wash out their stain. Mark, then, what I now
say. Now that the tyranny is broken down over the whole of Sicily all your
fighting rages round this one subject of dispute, the one party desiring to recover
the headship, and the other to put the finishing touch to the expulsion of the
tyrants. Now the majority of men always believe that the right advice about these
matters [8.352d] is the advising of such action as will do the greatest possible
harm to one’s enemies and the greatest possible good to one’s friends ; whereas
it is by no means easy to do much harm to others without also suffering in turn
much harm oneself. And without going far afield one may see such consequences
clearly in the recent events in Sicily itself, where the one faction is trying to inflict
injury and the other to ward off the injurers ; and the tale thereof, if ever you told
it to others, [8.352e] would inevitably prove a most impressive lesson. Of such
policies, one may say, there is no lack ; but as for a policy which would prove
beneficial to all alike, foes as well as friends, or at least as little detrimental as
possible to either, such a policy is neither easy to discern, nor, when discerned,
easy to carry out ; and to advise such a policy or attempt to describe it is much
like saying a prayer. Be it so, then, that this is nothing but a prayer (and in truth
every man ought always [8.353a] to begin his speaking and his thinking with the
gods) ; yet may it attain fulfilment in indicating some such counsel as this : —
Now and almost ever since the war began both you and your enemies have been
ruled continuously by that one family which your fathers set on the throne in the
hour of their greatest distress, when Greek Sicily was in the utmost danger of
being entirely overrun by the Carthaginians and barbarized. On that occasion
they chose Dionysius because of his youth and warlike prowess to take charge of
[8.353b] the military operations for which he was suited, with Hipparinus, who was
older, as his fellow-counsellor, appointing them dictators for the safeguarding of
Sicily, with the title, as men say, of “tyrants.” But whether one prefers to suppose
that the cause which ultimately brought about their salvation was divine Fortune
and the Deity, or the virtue of the rulers, or possibly the combination of both
assisted by the citizens of that age — as to this let everyone form his own
notion ; in any case this was the way in which salvation for the men of that
generation came about. Seeing, then, that they proved themselves men of such a
quality, [8.353c] it is surely right that they should be repaid with gratitude by all
those whom they saved. But if in after times the tyrant’s house has wrongly
abused the bounty of the city, the penalty for this it has suffered in part, and in
part it will have to pay. What, then, is the penalty rightly to be exacted from them
under existing circumstances ? If you were able to get quit of them easily, without
serious dangers and trouble, or if they were able to regain the empire without
difficulty, then, in either case, it would not have been possible for me so much as
to offer the advice which I am now about to utter ; but as it is, both of you ought
to bear in mind [8.353d] and remember how many times each party has hopefully
imagined that it lacked but a little of achieving complete success almost every
time ; and, what is more, that it is precisely this little deficiency which is always
turning out to be the cause of great and numberless evils. And of these evils no
limit is ever reached, but what seems to be the end of the old is always being
linked on to the beginning of a new brood ; and because of this endless chain of
evil [8.353e] the whole tribe of tyrants and democrats alike will be in danger of
destruction. But should any of these consequences — likely as they are though
lamentable — come to pass, hardly a trace of the Greek tongue will remain in all
Sicily, since it will have been transformed into a province or dependency of
Phoenicians or Opicians. Against this all the Greeks must with all zeal provide a
remedy. If, therefore, any man knows of a remedy that is truer and better than
that which I am now about to propose, [8.354a] and puts it openly before us, he
shall have the best right to the title “Friend of Greece.” The remedy, however,
which commends itself to me I shall now endeavor to explain, using the utmost
freedom of speech and a tone of impartial justice. For indeed I am speaking
somewhat like an arbitrator, and addressing to the two parties, the former despot
and his subjects, as though each were a single person, the counsel I gave of old.
And now also my word of advice to every despot would be that he should shun
the despot’s title and his task, and change his despotism for kingship. [8.354b]
That this is possible has been actually proved by that wise and good man
Lycurgus ; for when he saw that the family of his kinsmen in Argos and in
Messene had in both cases destroyed both themselves and their city by
advancing from kingship to despotic power, he was alarmed about his own city
as well as his own family, and as a remedy he introduced the authority of the
Elders and of the Ephors to serve as a bond of safety for the kingly power ; and
because of this they have already been kept safe [8.354c] and glorious all these
generations since Law became with them supreme king over men instead of men
being despots over the laws. And now also I urgently admonish you all to do the
same. Those of you who are rushing after despotic power I exhort to change their
course and to flee betimes from what is counted as “bliss” by men of insatiable
cravings and empty heads, and to try to transform themselves into the semblance
of a king, and to become subject to kingly laws, owing their possession of the
highest honors to the voluntary goodwill of the citizens and to the laws. And
[8.354d] I should counsel those who follow after the ways of freedom, and shun as
a really evil thing the yoke of bondage, to beware lest by their insatiable craving
for an immoderate freedom they should ever fall sick of their forefathers’ disease,
which the men of that time suffered because of their excessive anarchy, through
indulging an unmeasured love of freedom. For the Siceliots of the age before
Dionysius and Hipparinus began to rule were living blissfully, as they supposed,
being in luxury and ruling also over their rulers ; and they even stoned to death
the ten generals [8.354e] who preceded Dionysius, without any legal trial, to show
that they were no slaves of any rightful master, nor of any law, but were in all
ways altogether free. Hence it was that the rule of the despots befell them. For as
regards both slavery and freedom, when either is in excess it is wholly evil, but
when in moderation wholly good ; and moderate slavery consists in being the
slave of God, immoderate, in being the slave of men ; [8.355a] and men of sound
sense have Law for their God, but men without sense Pleasure. Since these things
are naturally ordained thus, I exhort Dion’s friends to declare what I am advising
to all the Syracusans, as being the joint advice both of Dion and myself ; and I will
be the interpreter of what he would have said to you now, were he alive and able
to speak. “Pray then,” someone might say, “what message does the advice of
Dion declare to us concerning the present situation ?” It is this : “Above all else, O
ye Syracusans, accept such laws [8.355b] as do not appear to you likely to turn
your minds covetously to money-making and wealth ; but rather — since there
are three objects, the soul, the body, and money besides, — accept such laws as
cause the virtue of the soul to be held first in honor, that of the body second,
subordinate to that of the soul, and the honor paid to money to come third and
last, in subjection to both the body and the soul. The ordinance which effects this
[8.355c] will be truly laid down by you as law, since it really makes those who obey
it blessed ; whereas the phrase which terms the rich “blessed” is not only a
miserable one in itself, being the senseless phrase of women and children, but
also renders those who believe it equally miserable. That this exhortation of mine
is true you will learn by actual experience if you make trial of what I am now
saying concerning laws ; for in all matters experience is held to be the truest test.
And when you have accepted laws of this kind, inasmuch as [8.355d] Sicily is beset
with dangers, and you are neither complete victors nor utterly vanquished, it will
be, no doubt, both just and profitable for you all to pursue a middle course —
not only those of you who flee from the harshness of the tyranny, but also those
who crave to win back that tyranny — the men whose ancestors in those days
performed the mightiest deed in saving the Greeks from the barbarians, with the
result that it is possible for us now to talk about constitutions ; whereas, if they
had then been ruined, no place would have been left at all for either talk or hope.
So, then, let the one party of you gain freedom by the aid of kingly rule, [8.355e]
and the other gain a form of kingly rule that is not irresponsible, with the laws
exercising despotic sway over the kings themselves as well as the rest of the
citizens, in case they do anything illegal. On these conditions set up kings for all
of you, by the help of the gods and with honest and sound intent, — my own son
first in return for twofold favors, namely that conferred by me and that conferred
by my father ; for he delivered the city from barbarians in his own day, while I, in
the present day, have twice delivered it from tyrants, [8.356a] whereof you
yourselves are witnesses. And as your second king create the man who possesses
the same name as my father and is son to Dionysius, in return for his present
assistance and for his pious disposition ; for he, though he is sprung from a
tyrant’s loins, is in act of delivering the city of his own free will, gaining thereby
for himself and for his race everlasting honor in place of a transitory and
unrighteous tyranny. And, thirdly, you ought to invite to become king of Syracuse
— as willing king of a willing city — him who is now [8.356b] commander of your
enemies’ army, Dionysius, son of Dionysius, if so be that he is willing of his own
accord to transform himself into a king, being moved thereto by fear of fortune’s
changes, and by pity for his country and the untended state of her temples and
her tombs, lest because of his ambition he utterly ruin all and become a cause of
rejoicing to the barbarians. And these three, — whether you grant them the
power of the Laconian kings or curtail that power by a common agreement, —
you should establish as kings in some such manner as the following, [8.356c]
which indeed has been described to you before, yet listen to it now again. If you
find that the family of Dionysius and Hipparinus is willing to make an end of the
evils now occurring in order to secure the salvation of Sicily provided that they
receive honors both in the present and for the future for themselves and for their
family, then on these terms, as was said before, convoke envoys empowered to
negotiate a pact, such men as they may choose, whether they come from Sicily or
from abroad or both, and in such numbers as may be mutually agreed. [8.356d]
And these men, on their arrival, should first lay down laws and a constitution
which is so framed as to permit the kings to be put in control of the temples and
of all else that fitly belongs to those who once were benefactors. And as
controllers of war and peace they should appoint Law-wardens, thirty-five in
number, in conjunction with the People and the Council. And there should be
various courts of law for various suits, but in matters involving death or exile the
Thirty-five should form the court ; and in addition to these there should be
judges selected [8.356e] from the magistrates of each preceding year, one from
each magistracy — the one, that is, who is approved as the most good and just ;
and these should decide for the ensuing year all cases which involve the death,
imprisonment or transportation of citizens ; and it should not be permissible for a
king to be a judge of such suits, but he, like a priest, [8.357a] should remain clean
from bloodshed and imprisonment and exile. This is what I planned for you when
I was alive, and it is still my plan now. With your aid, had not Furies in the guise of
guests prevented me, I should then have overcome our foes, and established the
State in the way I planned ; and after this, had my intentions been realized, I
should have resettled the rest of Sicily by depriving the barbarians of the land
they now hold — excepting those who fought in defence of the common liberty
against the tyranny — [8.357b] and restoring the former occupiers of the Greek
regions to their ancient and ancestral homes. And now likewise I counsel you all
with one accord to adopt and execute these same plans, and to summon all to
this task, and to count him who refuses as a common enemy. Nor is such a
course impossible ; for when plans actually exist in two souls, and when they are
readily perceived upon reflection to be the best, he who pronounces such plans
impossible is hardly a man of understanding. And by the “two souls” [8.357c] I
mean the soul of Hipparinus the son of Dionysius and that of my own son ; for
should these agree together, I believe that all the rest of the Syracusans who have
a care for their city will consent. Well then, when you have paid due honor, with
prayer, to all the gods and all the other powers to whom, along with the gods, it
is due, cease not from urging and exhorting both friends and opponents by
gentle means and every means, until, like a heaven-sent dream presented to
waking eyes, [8.357d] the plan which I have pictured in words be wrought by you
into plain deeds and brought to a happy consummation.”
LETTER IX
[9.357d] Plato to Archytas of Tarentum wishes well-doing.
Archippus and Philonides and their party have arrived, [9.357e] bringing us the
letter which you gave them, and also reporting your news. Their business with the
city they have completed without difficulty — for in truth it was not at all a hard
task ; and they have given us a full account of you, telling us that you are
somewhat distressed at not being able to get free from your public
engagements. Now it is plain to almost everyone that the pleasantest thing in life
is to attend to one’s own business, [9.358a] especially when the business one
chooses is such as yours ; yet you ought also to bear in mind that no one of us
exists for himself alone, but one share of our existence belongs to our country,
another to our parents, a third to the rest of our friends, while a great part is
given over to those needs of the hour with which our life is beset. And when our
country itself calls us to public duties, it were surely improper not to hearken to
the call ; for to do so will involve the further consequence of leaving room
[9.358b] to worthless men who engage in public affairs from motives that are by
no means the best. Enough, however, of this subject. We are looking after
Echecrates now and we shall do so in the future also, for your sake and that of his
father Phrynion, as well as for the sake of the youth himself.
LETTER X
[10.358c] Plato to Aristodorus wishes well-doing.
I hear that you now are and always have been one of Dion’s most intimate
companions, since of all who pursue philosophy you exhibit the most philosophic
disposition ; for steadfastness, trustiness, and sincerity — these I affirm to be the
genuine philosophy, but as to all other forms of science and cleverness which
tend in other directions, I shall, I believe, be giving them their right names if I dub
them “parlor-tricks.” So farewell, and continue in the same disposition in which
you are continuing now.
LETTER XI
[11.358d] Plato to Laodamas wishes well-doing.
I wrote to you before that in view of all that you say it is of great importance that
you yourself should come to Athens. But since you say that this is impossible, the
second best course would have been that I, if possible, or Socrates should go to
you, as in fact you said in your letter. At present, however, Socrates [11.358e] is
laid up with an attack of strangury ; while if I were to go there, it would be
humiliating if I failed to succeed in the task for which you are inviting me. But I
myself have no great hopes of success (as to my reasons for this, another long
letter would be required to explain them in full), and moreover, because of my
age, I am not physically fit to go wandering about and to run such risks as one
encounters both by sea and land ; and at present there is nothing but danger for
travellers everywhere. [11.359a] I am able, however, to give you and the settlers
advice which may seem to be, as Hesiod says, “Trivial when uttered by me, but
hard to be understanded.” For they are mistaken if they believe that a
constitution could ever be well established by any kind of legislation whatsoever
without the existence of some authority in the State which supervises the daily
life both of slaves and freemen, to see that it is both temperate and manly. And
this condition might be secured if you already possess men who are worthy of
such authority. [11.359b] If, however, you require someone to train them, you do
not, in my opinion, possess either the trainer or the pupils to be trained ; so it
only remains for you to pray to the gods. For, in truth, the earlier States also were
mostly organized in this way ; and they came to have a good constitution at a
later date, as a result of their being confronted with grave troubles, either
through war or other difficulties, whenever there arose in their midst at such a
crisis a man of noble character in possession of great power. So it is both right
and necessary that you should at first be eager for these results, [11.359c] but also
that you should conceive of them in the way I suggest, and not be so foolish as
to suppose that you will readily accomplish anything. Good-fortune attend you !
LETTER XII
[12.359c] Plato to Archytas of Tarentum wishes well-doing.
We have been wonderfully pleased at receiving the treatises which have come
from you and felt [12.359d] the utmost possible admiration for their author ;
indeed we judged the man to be worthy of those ancient ancestors of his. For in
truth these men are said to be Myrians ; and they were amongst those Trojans
who emigrated in the reign of Laomedon — valiant men, as the traditional story
declares. As to those treatises of mine about which you wrote, they are not as yet
completed, but I have sent them to you just in the state in which they happen to
be ; as concerns their [12.359e] preservation we are both in accord, so that there is
no need to give directions.
(Denied to be Plato’s.)
LETTER XIII
[13.360a] Plato to Dionysius, Tyrant of Syracuse, wishes well-doing.
Let this greeting not only commence my letter but serve at the same time as a
token that it is from me. Once when you were feasting the Locrian youths and
were seated at a distance from me, you got up and came over to me and in a
friendly spirit made some remark [13.360b] which I thought excellent, as also did
my neighbor at the table, who was one of the beautiful youths. And he then said
— “No doubt, Dionysius, you find Plato of great benefit as regards philosophy !”
And you replied — “Yes, and in regard to much else ; since from the very moment
of my inviting him I derived benefit at once from the very fact that I had invited
him.” This tone, then, should be carefully preserved, in order that the mutual
benefit we derive from one another may always go on increasing. So by way of
helping towards this end I am now sending you some of the Pythagorean works
and of the “Divisions,” and also, as we arranged at that time, a man of whom
[13.360c] you and Archytas — if Archytas has come to your court — may be able
to make use. His name is Helicon, he is a native of Cyzicus, and he is a pupil of
Eudoxus and exceedingly well versed in all his doctrine. Moreover, he has
associated with one of the pupils of Isocrates and with Polyxenus, one of Bryson’s
companions ; and, what is rare in these cases, he is not without charm of address
nor is he of a churlish disposition ; rather he would seem to be gay and [13.360d]
good-tempered. This, however, I say with trepidation, since I am uttering an
opinion about a man, and man though not a worthless is an inconstant creature,
save in very few instances and in few respects. For even in this man’s case my
fears and suspicions were such that, when I met him, I observed him carefully
myself and I made inquiry also from his fellow-citizens, and no one had anything
bad to say of the man. But do you yourself also keep him under observation and
be cautious. It were best, then, if you have any leisure at all, [13.360e] to take
lessons from him in addition to your other studies in philosophy ; but if not, get
someone else thoroughly taught so that you may learn from him when you have
leisure, and thereby make progress and gain glory, — that so the benefit you
gain from me may still continue. So much, then, for this subject.
[13.361a] As regards the things you wrote to me to send you, I have had the
Apollo made and Leptines is bringing it to you. It is by a young and good
craftsman named Leochares. He had at his shop another piece which was, as I
thought, very artistic ; so I bought it with the intention of presenting it to your
wife, because she tended me both in health and sickness in a manner which did
credit both to you and to me. So will you give it to her, unless you prefer to do
otherwise. I am also sending twelve jars of sweet wine for the children [13.361b]
and two of honey. We arrived too late for the stoling of the figs, and the myrtleberries
that were stored have rotted ; but in future we shall take better care of
them. About the plants Leptines will tell you. The money to meet these expenses
— I mean for the purchases mentioned and for certain State taxes — I obtained
from Leptines, telling him what I thought it best became us to tell him, it being
also true, — that the sum of about sixteen minas which we spent on the
Leucadian ship belonged to us ; [13.361c] this, then, was the sum I obtained, and
on obtaining it I used it myself and sent off these purchases to you. Next, let me
tell you what your position is in regard to money, both what you have at Athens
and my own. I shall make use of your money, as I told you previously, just as I do
that of all my other friends ; I use as little as I possibly can, only just so much as I
and the man I get it from agree to be necessary or right or fitting. Now this is
how I am situated at present. I have in my charge four daughters of those nieces
of mine who died [13.361d] at the time when you bade me to wear a crown, and I
refused ; and of these one is of marriageable age, one eight years old, one a little
over three years, and the fourth not yet a year old. To these girls I and my friends
must give portions — to all of them, that is, whom I live to see married ; as to the
rest, they must look to themselves. Nor should I give portions to any whose
fathers may get to be richer than I ; though at present I am the wealthiest of
them, and it was I who, with the help of Dion and others, [13.361e] gave their
mothers their portions. Now the eldest one is marrying Speusippus, she being his
sister’s daughter. So for her I require no more than thirty minas, that being for us
a reasonable dowry. Moreover, in case my own mother should die, no more than
ten minas would be required for the building of her tomb. For such purposes,
then, these are pretty well all my necessary requirements at the present time. And
should any further expense, private or public, be incurred owing to my visit to
your court, we must do as I said before : I must strive hard to keep the expense as
low as possible, and if ever [13.362a] that is beyond my power, the charge must
fall upon you. In the next place, as regards the spending of your own money at
Athens, I have to tell you, first of all, that, contrary to what we supposed, you
have not a single friend who will advance money in case I am required to spend
something on furnishing a chorus or the like ; and further, if you yourself have
some urgent affair on hand in which prompt expenditure is to your advantage,
whereas it is to your disadvantage to have the expenditure deferred until the
arrival of a messenger from you, such a state of affairs is not only awkward but
reflects also on your honor. And in fact I discovered this myself [13.362b] when I
sent Erastus to Andromedes the Aeginetan — from whom, as a friend of yours,
you told me to borrow what I needed ; as I wished to send you also some other
valuable items which you had written for. He replied — naturally enough, as any
man might — that when, on a previous occasion, he had advanced money on
your father’s account he had had difficulty in recovering it, and that he would
now loan a small amount but no more. That was how I came to borrow from
Leptines ; and for this Leptines is deserving of praise, not that he gave it, but that
he did so readily, and plainly showed his friendship and its quality [13.362c] in all
else that he did or said regarding you. For it is surely right that I should report
such actions, as well as the opposite kind, to show what I believe to be each
man’s attitude towards you. However, I will tell you candidly the position with
regard to money matters ; for it is right to do so, and, moreover, I shall be
speaking from experience of your court. The agents who bring you the reports
every time are unwilling to report anything which they think entails an expense,
as being likely to bring them odium. Do you therefore accustom them and
compel them [13.362d] to declare these matters as well as the rest ; for it is right
that you should know the whole state of affairs so far as you can and act as the
judge, and not avoid this knowledge. For such a course will best serve to enhance
your authority. For expenditure that is rightly laid out and rightly paid back is a
good thing — as you yourself maintain and will maintain — not only for other
purposes but also for the acquisition of money itself. Therefore, do not let those
who profess to be devoted to you slander you before the world ; for to have the
reputation of being ill to deal with is neither [13.362e] good for your reputation
nor honorable.
In the next place I shall speak about Dion. Other matters I cannot speak of as yet,
until the letters from you arrive, as you said ; with regard, however, to those
matters which you forbade me to mention to him, I neither mentioned nor
discussed them, but I did try to discover whether he would take their occurrence
hardly or calmly, and it seemed to me that if they occurred it would cause him no
small vexation. As to all else Dion’s attitude towards you seems to me to be
reasonable both in word and deed.
[13.363a] To Cratinus the brother of Timotheus, and my own companion, let us
present a hoplite’s corslet, one of the soft kind for foot-soldiers ; and to the
daughters of Cebes three tunics of seven cubits, not made of the costly Amorgos
stuff but of the Sicilian linen. The name of Cebes you probably know ; for he is
mentioned in writing in the Socratic discourses as conversing with Socrates, in
company with Simmias, in the discourse concerning the Soul, he being an
intimate and kindly friend of us all.
[13.363b] Concerning the sign which indicates which of my letters are seriously
written and which not, I suppose that you remember it, but none the less bear it
in mind and pay the utmost attention ; for there are many bidding me to write,
whom it is not easy to repulse openly. “God,” then, is at the head of the serious
letter, but “gods” of the less serious. The ambassadors requested me to write to
you, and naturally so ; for they are everywhere lauding both you and me with the
utmost zeal ; and not least Philagrus, who was then suffering with his hand.
Philaides also, [13.363c] on his arrival from the Great King, was talking about you ;
and if it had not required a very long letter I would have told you in writing what
he said ; but as it is, ask Leptines to tell you. If you are sending the corslet or any
of the other things I have written about, in case you have anyone you prefer
yourself, give it to him, but if not, give it to Terillus ; he is one of those who are
constantly making the voyage, and he is a friend of ours who is skilled in
philosophy as well as in other things. He is also a son-in-law of Teison who was
city-steward at the time when we sailed away. Keep well and study philosophy
and exhort thereto [13.363d] all the other young men ; and greet for me your
comrades at the game of ball ; and charge Aristocritus, as well as the rest, that if
any message or letter from me should come to your palace, he must take care
that you are informed of it as soon as possible ; and bid him remind you not to
neglect the contents of my letters. So too now, do not neglect to repay Leptines
his money, but pay it back as promptly as possible, in order that the others also,
seeing how you deal with him, may be the more ready to assist us.
[13.363e] Iatrocles, the man whom I released on that occasion, along with
Myronides, is now sailing with the things that I am sending : I ask you, then, to
give him some paid post, as he is well-disposed towards you, and employ him for
whatever you wish. Preserve also this letter, either itself or a precis of it, and
continue as you are.

II
LOVERS

LOVERS
Persons of the Dialogue :
SOCRATES, Young men.
[132a] Socrates : I entered the grammar school of the teacher Dionysius, and saw
there the young men who are accounted the most comely in form and of
distinguished family, and their lovers. Now it chanced that two of the young
people were disputing, but about what, I did not clearly overhear : it appeared,
however, that they were disputing either about Anaxagoras or about Œnopides ;
at any rate, they appeared to be drawing circles, [132b] and they were imitating
certain inclinations with their arms, bending to it and taking it most earnestly.
Then I — for I was sitting beside the lover of one of the pair — nudged him with
my elbow and asked him what on earth the two youngsters were so earnest
about, and I said : Is it then something great and fine, in which they are so
earnestly immersed ?
Great and fine, indeed ! he replied : why, these fellows are prating about the
heavenly bodies, and babbling philosophy.
[132c] Then I, surprised at his answer, said : Young man, do you consider
philosophizing to be shameful ? Else, why do you speak so sharply ?
Then the other youth — for he chanced to be sitting near him, as his rival in love
— when he heard my question and his rival’s answer, said : You do yourself no
good, Socrates, by pressing this fellow with a further question, as to whether he
considers philosophizing to be shameful. Do you not know that he has spent the
whole of his life in practising the neckhold, and stuffing himself, and sleeping ?
So why did you suppose he would make any other reply than that philosophy is
shameful ?
[132d] Now this one of the two lovers had spent his time on humane studies,
whereas the other, whom he was abusing, had spent his on athletics. So I decided
that I had best relinquish the other, whom I had been questioning, since he did
not even himself set up to be experienced in words, but only in deeds ; and that I
should interrogate the one who set up to be wiser, in order that so far as I was
able I might get some benefit from him. I said therefore : I addressed my
question to both in common ; but if you think you could answer more creditably
than he, I put the same question to you as I did to him : do you consider
philosophizing to be honorable or not ?
[133a] Then the two striplings, overhearing us speak somewhat like this, were
silent, and ceasing from their own contention they became listeners to ours.
What their lovers’ sensations were, I do not know, but I myself, at any rate, was
staggered ; for every time I am staggered by handsome young people. It seemed
to me, however, that my young friend too was in as great a flutter as myself ; but
nevertheless he answered me in a most ambitious spirit : Why, of course,
Socrates, he said, if I should ever consider philosophizing to be shameful, I should
not account myself so much as a man, [133b] nor anyone else either who was
disposed to think so.
Here he pointed to his rival lover, and spoke with a loud voice, in order that his
favorite might hear every word. Then I remarked : So philosophizing seems to
you to be honorable ?
Quite so, he said.
Well now, I said ; does it seem to you possible to know whether anything is
honorable or shameful without knowing what it is fundamentally ?
No, he said.
[133c] Then do you know, I went on, what philosophizing is ?
Certainly I do, said he.
Then what is it ? I asked.
Why, just what Solon called it ; you know it was Solon who said :
And ever, as I older grow, I learn yet more and more ;
— and I agree with him that a man who intends to philosophize should in this
way be ever learning something or other, whether he be younger or older, in
order that he may learn as many things as possible in his life.
Now at first I felt there was something in his reply, but then, on second thoughts,
I asked him whether he considered philosophy to be much learning.
[133d] To which he answered : Certainly.
And do you consider philosophy to be merely honorable, I asked, or good as
well ?
Good as well, he said : very much so.
Then do you observe this as peculiar to philosophy, or do you find it similarly in
everything else ? For example, do you consider the love of athletics to be not
merely honorable, but good as well, or do you not ?
Whereupon he, most slily, gave a double answer : To him my statement must be
“neither” ; but to you, Socrates, I acknowledge it to be both honorable and good :
[133e] for I consider this the right view.
Then I asked him : Well now, in athletics, do you consider that much exercise is
love of athletics ?
To which he replied : Certainly, just as in philosophizing I consider much learning
to be philosophy.
Then I said : And do you then consider that the lovers of athletics desire anything
else than that which will cause them to be in good bodily condition ?
Only that, he replied.
And does much exercise, I asked, cause them to be in good bodily condition ?
[134a] Yes, for how, he replied, could one be in good bodily condition through
little exercise ?
Here I felt it was time to stir up the lover of athletics, in order that he might give
me the support of his athletic experience ; so I proceeded to ask him : And you
then, pray, why are you silent, excellent sir, while your friend here is speaking
thus ? Do you agree that men are in good bodily condition through much
exercise, or is it rather through moderate exercise ?
For my part, Socrates, he said, I thought even a pig — [134b] as the saying is —
would have known that moderate exercise causes them to be in good bodily
condition, so why should not a fellow who is sleepless and unfed, with unchafed
neck and slender, care-worn frame !
And when he had said this the boys were delighted and laughed their approval,
while the other lover blushed.
Then I said to him : Well, do you now concede that it is neither much, nor little,
but moderate exercise that causes men to be in good bodily condition ? Or do
you bid defiance to the two of us on this point ?
[134c] To which he answered : Against him I should be only too glad to fight it
out, and I am certain I should prove able to support the theory I have put
forward, even had I put forward a weaker one ; for he is naught. But with you I do
not aim at winning an unscrupulous success ; and so I admit that not a great but
a moderate amount of athletics causes good condition in men.
And what of food ? Moderate or much ? I asked.
The same applied to food, he admitted.
[134d] Then I went on and tried to compel him also to admit that everything else
connected with the body when most beneficial, was the moderate thing, not the
much or the little ; and he admitted that it was the moderate thing.
And now, I said, as regards the soul ; are moderate or immoderate things
beneficial, as adjuncts of it ?
Moderate things, he replied.
And are studies among the adjuncts of the soul ?
He admitted they were.
So among these also it is the moderate that are beneficial, and not the much ?
He agreed.
Then whom should we be justified in asking what sort of exercise or food is
moderate for the body ?
The three of us agreed that it must be a doctor or a trainer.
[134e] And whom should we ask about the moderate measure in the sowing of
seed ?
In that matter, we agreed, it must be a farmer.
And whom should we be justified in asking as to the moderate degree and kind,
in regard to the sowing and planting of studies in the soul ?
At this point we all began to be full of perplexity ; [135a] then I, mocking at them,
asked : Do you mind, since we are in perplexity, if we ask these boys here ? or
perhaps we are ashamed, as Homer said the suitors were, and do not think it fit
there should be someone else who will string the bow ?
Then, as it seemed to me that they were losing their zeal for the argument, I tried
to pursue the inquiry in another way, and said : But what, as nearly as we can
guess, are the kinds of learning which the philosopher should learn, since he is
not to learn all things or many things ?
[135b] At this the wiser one interjected : The finest and most suitable kinds of
learning are those which will bring him the most reputation for philosophy ; and
he will get most reputation if he appears well versed in all the arts, or if not in all,
in as many of them, and those the most considerable, as he can, by learning so
much of them as befits a free man to learn, that is, what belongs to the
understanding rather than the handiwork of each.
Well now, do you mean, I asked, in the same way as in carpentry ? For there, you
know, you can buy a carpenter for five [135c] or six minae, but a first-rate
architect cannot be got for even ten thousand drachmae ; few such, indeed, could
be found throughout the whole of Greece. Is it something of this sort that you
mean ?
When he heard me say this, he admitted that something like this was what he
himself meant.
I next asked him if it was not impossible for the same person to learn in this way
merely two of the arts, not to speak of many or the principal ones ; to which he
replied : Do not conceive me, Socrates, [135d] to be stating that the philosopher
must have accurate knowledge of each of the arts, like the actual adept in any of
them ; I mean only so far as may be expected of a free and educated man : that
is, he should be able to follow the explanations of the craftsman more readily
than the rest of the company, and to contribute an opinion of his own which will
make him appear the cleverest and most accomplished of the company who may
at any time be present at some verbal or practical exposition of the arts.
Then, as I was still unsettled in my mind as to the drift of his words, I asked him :
Do I quite grasp the sort of man whom you mean by the philosopher ? [135e] For
you seem to me to mean someone like the all-round athletes in contest with the
runners or the wrestlers : the former yield, you know, to the latter in their
particular exercises, and are their inferiors in these, but are superior to the usual
sort of athletes and beat them. I daresay it may be something of this sort that
you would suggest as the effect produced by philosophy on those who make it
their pursuit : they yield to those who are first-rate [136a] in an understanding of
the arts, but in taking the second place they surpass the rest ; and in this way the
man who has studied philosophy comes just next to the top in everything. That is
the kind of person whom you appear to me to indicate.
You are quite right, it seems to me, Socrates, he said, in your conception of the
philosopher’s position, with your comparison of him to the all-round athlete. For
it is precisely his nature not to be enslaved to any business, or to work out
anything exactly, so as to let his application to that one matter make him
deficient in the rest, [136b] as the craftsmen do, but to have a moderate contact
with all of them.
Well, after this answer I was eager to know clearly what he meant, so I inquired of
him whether he conceived of good men as useful or useless.
Useful, I should say, Socrates, he replied.
Then if good men are useful, are wicked men useless ?
He agreed that they were.
Again, do you consider that philosophers are useful persons or not ?
[136c] He agreed that they were useful ; nay, more, that he considered they were
most useful of all.
Come now, let us make out, if what you say is true, where these second-best men
are also useful to us : for clearly the philosopher is inferior to any particular adept
in the arts.
He agreed.
Well now, I went on, if you yourself, or one of your friends for whom you feel
great concern, should have fallen sick, would you fetch that second-best man into
the house with a view to obtaining health, or would you summon a doctor ?
[136d] For my part, I should have both, he replied.
Please do not say “both,” I said, but which of the two you would prefer and also
summon first.
No one, he replied, would make any question but that the doctor should be
preferred and also summoned first.
And again, if you were in a ship that was making rough weather, to which would
you rather entrust yourself and yours, the pilot or the philosopher ?
I should choose the pilot.
And so it will be in everything else : so long as there is some craftsman, the
philosopher will not be useful ?
Apparently, he replied.
[136e] So now we find that the philosopher is a useless person ? For I suppose we
always have craftsmen ; and we have agreed that good men are useful, and bad
ones useless.
He was obliged to agree to this.
Then what follows ? Am I to ask you, or will it be too ill-mannered ?
Ask whatever you please.
Well, my aim, I said, is merely to recall our agreements upon [137a] what has been
stated. The matter stands somewhat like this. We agreed that philosophy is an
honorable thing, and that philosophers are good ; and that good men are useful,
and wicked men useless : but then again we agreed that philosophers, so long as
we have craftsmen, are useless, and that we always do have craftsmen. Has not all
this been agreed ?
Yes, to be sure, he replied.
Then we agreed, it seems, by your account — if philosophizing means having
knowledge of the arts in the way you describe — that philosophers are wicked
and useless so long as there are arts [137b] among mankind. But I expect they are
not so really, my friend, and that philosophizing is not just having a concernment
in the arts or spending one’s life in meddlesome stooping and prying and
accumulation of learning, but something else ; because I imagined that this life
was actually a disgrace, and that people who concerned themselves with the arts
were called sordid. But we shall know more definitely whether this statement of
mine is true, if you will answer me this : What men know how to punish horses
rightly ? [137c] Is it those who make them into the best horses, or some other
men ?
Those who make them into the best horses.
Or again, is it not the men who know how to make dogs into the best dogs that
know also how to punish them rightly ?
Yes.
Then it is the same art that makes them into the best dogs and punishes them
rightly ?
It appears so to me, he replied.
Again, is the art that makes them into the best ones and punishes them rightly
the same as that which knows the good and the bad ones, or is it some other ?
The same, he said.
Then in the case of men also will you be prepared to agree that the art [137d]
which makes them into the best men is that which punishes them rightly and
distinguishes the good and the bad ones ?
Certainly, he said.
And that which does this to one, does it also to many, and that which does it to
many, does it also to one ?
Yes.
And so it is also with horses and everything else ?
I agree.
Then what is the knowledge which rightly punishes the licentious and lawbreaking
people in our cities ? Is it not judicature ?
Yes.
And is it any other art than this that you call justice ?
No, only this.
[137e] And that whereby they punish rightly is that whereby they know the good
and bad people ?
It is.
And whoever knows one will know many also ?
Yes.
And whoever does not know many will not know one ?
I agree.
Then if one were a horse, and did not know the good and wicked horses, would
one not know which sort one was oneself ?
I think not.
And if one were an ox and did not know the wicked and good oxen, would one
not know which sort one was oneself ?
That is so, he said.
And so it would be, if one were a dog ?
He agreed.
[138a] Well now, when one is a man, and does not know the good and bad men,
one surely cannot know whether one is good or wicked oneself, since one is a
man also oneself ?
He granted this.
And is “not knowing oneself” being temperate, or not being temperate ?
Not being temperate.
So “knowing oneself” is being temperate ?
I agree, he said.
So this is the message, it seems, of the Delphic inscription — that one is to
practise temperance and justice.
It seems so.
And it is by this same art that we know also how to punish rightly ?
Yes.
Then that whereby we know how to punish rightly [138b] is justice, and that
whereby we know how to distinguish our own and others’ quality is temperance ?
It seems so, he said.
Then justice and temperance are the same thing ?
Apparently.
And further, it is thus, you know, that cities are well ordered — when the
wrongdoers pay the penalty.
That is true, he said.
Hence this is also statecraft.
He concurred.
Again, when one man governs a city rightly, is he not called a despot and king ?
I agree.
And he governs by a kingly and despotic art ?
That is so.
And these arts are the same as the former ?
Apparently.
[138c] Again, when a man singly governs a house aright, what is he called ?
Is he not a house-manager and master ?
Yes.
Then would he also govern his house well by justice, or by some other art ?
By justice.
Hence they are all the same, it seems, — king, despot, statesman, housemanager,
master, and the temperate man and the just man ; and it is all one art,
— the kingly, the despotic, the statesman’s, the master’s, the house-manager’s,
and justice and temperance.
It is so, apparently, he said.
[138d] Then, if it is disgraceful in the philosopher to be unable, when a doctor
speaks about the sick, either to follow his remarks or to contribute anything of his
own to what is being said or done, and to be in the same case when any other of
the craftsmen speaks, is it not disgraceful that he should be unable, when it is a
judge or a king or some other of the persons whom we have just instanced,
either to follow their words or contribute anything to their business ?
It must indeed be disgraceful, Socrates, to have nothing to contribute to subjects
of such great importance !
[138e] Are we then to say, I asked, that in these matters also he is to be an allround
athlete, a second-rate man, taking the second place in all the subjects of
this art — he, the philosopher — and is to be useless so long as there is one of
these persons ; or that, first of all, he is to entrust his own house to nobody else
and is not to take the second place in it, but is himself to judge and punish
rightly, if his house is to be well managed ?
He granted me that it must be so.
Secondly, I presume, whether his friends entrust him with an arbitration, or the
state charges him to determine [139a] or judge any matter, it is disgraceful for
him, my good friend, in such cases, to be found in the second or third place, and
not to lead ?
I agree.
Hence we see, my excellent sir, that philosophizing is very far from being much
learning and that affair of busying oneself with the arts.
On my saying this the cultivated youth was silent, feeling ashamed for what he
had said before, while the unlearned one said it was as I stated ; and the rest of
the company praised the argument.

III
ERYXIAS

ERYXIAS
PREFACE
The two dialogues which are translated in the second appendix are not mentioned by
Aristotle, or by any early authority, and have no claim to be ascribed to Plato. They are
examples of Platonic dialogues to be assigned probably to the second or third
generation after Plato, when his writings were well known at Athens and Alexandria.
They exhibit considerable originality, and are remarkable for containing several thoughts
of the sort which we suppose to be modern rather than ancient, and which therefore
have a peculiar interest for us. The Second Alcibiades shows that the difficulties about
prayer which have perplexed Christian theologians were not unknown among the
followers of Plato. The Eryxias was doubted by the ancients themselves: yet it may claim
the distinction of being, among all Greek or Roman writings, the one which anticipates
in the most striking manner the modern science of political economy and gives an
abstract form to some of its principal doctrines.
For the translation of these two dialogues I am indebted to my friend and secretary, Mr.
Knight.
That the Dialogue which goes by the name of the Second Alcibiades is a genuine writing
of Plato will not be maintained by any modern critic, and was hardly believed by the
ancients themselves. The dialectic is poor and weak. There is no power over language, or
beauty of style; and there is a certain abruptness and agroikia in the conversation, which
is very un-Platonic. The best passage is probably that about the poets:—the remark that
the poet, who is of a reserved disposition, is uncommonly difficult to understand, and
the ridiculous interpretation of Homer, are entirely in the spirit of Plato (compare Protag;
Ion; Apol.). The characters are ill-drawn. Socrates assumes the ‘superior person’ and
preaches too much, while Alcibiades is stupid and heavy-in-hand. There are traces of
Stoic influence in the general tone and phraseology of the Dialogue (compare opos
melesei tis...kaka: oti pas aphron mainetai): and the writer seems to have been
acquainted with the ‘Laws’ of Plato (compare Laws). An incident from the Symposium is
rather clumsily introduced, and two somewhat hackneyed quotations (Symp., Gorg.)
recur. The reference to the death of Archelaus as having occurred ‘quite lately’ is only a
fiction, probably suggested by the Gorgias, where the story of Archelaus is told, and a
similar phrase occurs;—ta gar echthes kai proen gegonota tauta, k.t.l. There are several
passages which are either corrupt or extremely ill-expressed. But there is a modern
interest in the subject of the dialogue; and it is a good example of a short spurious work,
which may be attributed to the second or third century before Christ.
INTRODUCTION.
Much cannot be said in praise of the style or conception of the Eryxias. It is frequently
obscure; like the exercise of a student, it is full of small imitations of Plato:—Phaeax
returning from an expedition to Sicily (compare Socrates in the Charmides from the
army at Potidaea), the figure of the game at draughts, borrowed from the Republic, etc.
It has also in many passages the ring of sophistry. On the other hand, the rather
unhandsome treatment which is exhibited towards Prodicus is quite unlike the urbanity
of Plato.
Yet there are some points in the argument which are deserving of attention. (1) That
wealth depends upon the need of it or demand for it, is the first anticipation in an
abstract form of one of the great principles of modern political economy, and the
nearest approach to it to be found in an ancient writer. (2) The resolution of wealth into
its simplest implements going on to infinity is a subtle and refined thought. (3) That
wealth is relative to circumstances is a sound conception. (4) That the arts and sciences
which receive payment are likewise to be comprehended under the notion of wealth,
also touches a question of modern political economy. (5) The distinction of post hoc and
propter hoc, often lost sight of in modern as well as in ancient times. These
metaphysical conceptions and distinctions show considerable power of thought in the
writer, whatever we may think of his merits as an imitator of Plato.
ERYXIAS
PERSONS OF THE DIALOGUE: Socrates, Eryxias, Erasistratus, Critias.
SCENE: The portico of a temple of Zeus.
It happened by chance that Eryxias the Steirian was walking with me in the Portico of
Zeus the Deliverer, when there came up to us Critias and Erasistratus, the latter the son
of Phaeax, who was the nephew of Erasistratus. Now Erasistratus had just arrived from
Sicily and that part of the world. As they approached, he said, Hail, Socrates!
SOCRATES: The same to you, I said; have you any good news from Sicily to tell us?
ERASISTRATUS: Most excellent. But, if you please, let us first sit down; for I am tired with
my yesterday’s journey from Megara.
SOCRATES: Gladly, if that is your desire.
ERASISTRATUS: What would you wish to hear first? he said. What the Sicilians are doing,
or how they are disposed towards our city? To my mind, they are very like wasps: so
long as you only cause them a little annoyance they are quite unmanageable; you must
destroy their nests if you wish to get the better of them. And in a similar way, the
Syracusans, unless we set to work in earnest, and go against them with a great
expedition, will never submit to our rule. The petty injuries which we at present inflict
merely irritate them enough to make them utterly intractable. And now they have sent
ambassadors to Athens, and intend, I suspect, to play us some trick.—While we were
talking, the Syracusan envoys chanced to go by, and Erasistratus, pointing to one of
them, said to me, That, Socrates, is the richest man in all Italy and Sicily. For who has
larger estates or more land at his disposal to cultivate if he please? And they are of a
quality, too, finer than any other land in Hellas. Moreover, he has all the things which go
to make up wealth, slaves and horses innumerable, gold and silver without end.
I saw that he was inclined to expatiate on the riches of the man; so I asked him, Well,
Erasistratus, and what sort of character does he bear in Sicily?
ERASISTRATUS: He is esteemed to be, and really is, the wickedest of all the Sicilians and
Italians, and even more wicked than he is rich; indeed, if you were to ask any Sicilian
whom he thought to be the worst and the richest of mankind, you would never hear any
one else named.
I reflected that we were speaking, not of trivial matters, but about wealth and virtue,
which are deemed to be of the greatest moment, and I asked Erasistratus whom he
considered the wealthier,—he who was the possessor of a talent of silver or he who had
a field worth two talents?
ERASISTRATUS: The owner of the field.
SOCRATES: And on the same principle he who had robes and bedding and such things
which are of greater value to him than to a stranger would be richer than the stranger?
ERASISTRATUS: True.
SOCRATES: And if any one gave you a choice, which of these would you prefer?
ERASISTRATUS: That which was most valuable.
SOCRATES: In which way do you think you would be the richer?
ERASISTRATUS: By choosing as I said.
SOCRATES: And he appears to you to be the richest who has goods of the greatest
value?
ERASISTRATUS: He does.
SOCRATES: And are not the healthy richer than the sick, since health is a possession
more valuable than riches to the sick? Surely there is no one who would not prefer to be
poor and well, rather than to have all the King of Persia’s wealth and to be ill. And this
proves that men set health above wealth, else they would never choose the one in
preference to the other.
ERASISTRATUS: True.
SOCRATES: And if anything appeared to be more valuable than health, he would be the
richest who possessed it?
ERASISTRATUS: He would.
SOCRATES: Suppose that some one came to us at this moment and were to ask, Well,
Socrates and Eryxias and Erasistratus, can you tell me what is of the greatest value to
men? Is it not that of which the possession will best enable a man to advise how his own
and his friend’s affairs should be administered?—What will be our reply?
ERASISTRATUS: I should say, Socrates, that happiness was the most precious of human
possessions.
SOCRATES: Not a bad answer. But do we not deem those men who are most prosperous
to be the happiest?
ERASISTRATUS: That is my opinion.
SOCRATES: And are they not most prosperous who commit the fewest errors in respect
either of themselves or of other men?
ERASISTRATUS: Certainly.
SOCRATES: And they who know what is evil and what is good; what should be done and
what should be left undone;—these behave the most wisely and make the fewest
mistakes?
Erasistratus agreed to this.
SOCRATES: Then the wisest and those who do best and the most fortunate and the
richest would appear to be all one and the same, if wisdom is really the most valuable of
our possessions?
Yes, said Eryxias, interposing, but what use would it be if a man had the wisdom of
Nestor and wanted the necessaries of life, food and drink and clothes and the like?
Where would be the advantage of wisdom then? Or how could he be the richest of men
who might even have to go begging, because he had not wherewithal to live?
I thought that what Eryxias was saying had some weight, and I replied, Would the wise
man really suffer in this way, if he were so ill-provided; whereas if he had the house of
Polytion, and the house were full of gold and silver, he would lack nothing?
ERYXIAS: Yes; for then he might dispose of his property and obtain in exchange what he
needed, or he might sell it for money with which he could supply his wants and in a
moment procure abundance of everything.
SOCRATES: True, if he could find some one who preferred such a house to the wisdom
of Nestor. But if there are persons who set great store by wisdom like Nestor’s and the
advantages accruing from it, to sell these, if he were so disposed, would be easier still.
Or is a house a most useful and necessary possession, and does it make a great
difference in the comfort of life to have a mansion like Polytion’s instead of living in a
shabby little cottage, whereas wisdom is of small use and it is of no importance whether
a man is wise or ignorant about the highest matters? Or is wisdom despised of men and
can find no buyers, although cypress wood and marble of Pentelicus are eagerly bought
by numerous purchasers? Surely the prudent pilot or the skilful physician, or the artist of
any kind who is proficient in his art, is more worth than the things which are especially
reckoned among riches; and he who can advise well and prudently for himself and
others is able also to sell the product of his art, if he so desire.
Eryxias looked askance, as if he had received some unfair treatment, and said, I believe,
Socrates, that if you were forced to speak the truth, you would declare that you were
richer than Callias the son of Hipponicus. And yet, although you claimed to be wiser
about things of real importance, you would not any the more be richer than he.
I dare say, Eryxias, I said, that you may regard these arguments of ours as a kind of
game; you think that they have no relation to facts, but are like the pieces in the game
of draughts which the player can move in such a way that his opponents are unable to
make any countermove. (Compare Republic.) And perhaps, too, as regards riches you
are of opinion that while facts remain the same, there are arguments, no matter whether
true or false, which enable the user of them to prove that the wisest and the richest are
one and the same, although he is in the wrong and his opponents are in the right. There
would be nothing strange in this; it would be as if two persons were to dispute about
letters, one declaring that the word Socrates began with an S, the other that it began
with an A, and the latter could gain the victory over the former.
Eryxias glanced at the audience, laughing and blushing at once, as if he had had nothing
to do with what had just been said, and replied,—No, indeed, Socrates, I never
supposed that our arguments should be of a kind which would never convince any one
of those here present or be of advantage to them. For what man of sense could ever be
persuaded that the wisest and the richest are the same? The truth is that we are
discussing the subject of riches, and my notion is that we should argue respecting the
honest and dishonest means of acquiring them, and, generally, whether they are a good
thing or a bad.
Very good, I said, and I am obliged to you for the hint: in future we will be more careful.
But why do not you yourself, as you introduced the argument, and do not think that the
former discussion touched the point at issue, tell us whether you consider riches to be a
good or an evil?
I am of opinion, he said, that they are a good. He was about to add something more,
when Critias interrupted him:—Do you really suppose so, Eryxias?
Certainly, replied Eryxias; I should be mad if I did not: and I do not fancy that you would
find any one else of a contrary opinion.
And I, retorted Critias, should say that there is no one whom I could not compel to
admit that riches are bad for some men. But surely, if they were a good, they could not
appear bad for any one?
Here I interposed and said to them: If you two were having an argument about
equitation and what was the best way of riding, supposing that I knew the art myself, I
should try to bring you to an agreement. For I should be ashamed if I were present and
did not do what I could to prevent your difference. And I should do the same if you
were quarrelling about any other art and were likely, unless you agreed on the point in
dispute, to part as enemies instead of as friends. But now, when we are contending
about a thing of which the usefulness continues during the whole of life, and it makes
an enormous difference whether we are to regard it as beneficial or not,—a thing, too,
which is esteemed of the highest importance by the Hellenes:—(for parents, as soon as
their children are, as they think, come to years of discretion, urge them to consider how
wealth may be acquired, since by riches the value of a man is judged):— When, I say, we
are thus in earnest, and you, who agree in other respects, fall to disputing about a
matter of such moment, that is, about wealth, and not merely whether it is black or
white, light or heavy, but whether it is a good or an evil, whereby, although you are now
the dearest of friends and kinsmen, the most bitter hatred may arise betwixt you, I must
hinder your dissension to the best of my power. If I could, I would tell you the truth, and
so put an end to the dispute; but as I cannot do this, and each of you supposes that you
can bring the other to an agreement, I am prepared, as far as my capacity admits, to
help you in solving the question. Please, therefore, Critias, try to make us accept the
doctrines which you yourself entertain.
CRITIAS: I should like to follow up the argument, and will ask Eryxias whether he thinks
that there are just and unjust men?
ERYXIAS: Most decidedly.
CRITIAS: And does injustice seem to you an evil or a good?
ERYXIAS: An evil.
CRITIAS: Do you consider that he who bribes his neighbour’s wife and commits adultery
with her, acts justly or unjustly, and this although both the state and the laws forbid?
ERYXIAS: Unjustly.
CRITIAS: And if the wicked man has wealth and is willing to spend it, he will carry out his
evil purposes? whereas he who is short of means cannot do what he fain would, and
therefore does not sin? In such a case, surely, it is better that a person should not be
wealthy, if his poverty prevents the accomplishment of his desires, and his desires are
evil? Or, again, should you call sickness a good or an evil?
ERYXIAS: An evil.
CRITIAS: Well, and do you think that some men are intemperate?
ERYXIAS: Yes.
CRITIAS: Then, if it is better for his health that the intemperate man should refrain from
meat and drink and other pleasant things, but he cannot owing to his intemperance, will
it not also be better that he should be too poor to gratify his lust rather than that he
should have a superabundance of means? For thus he will not be able to sin, although
he desire never so much.
Critias appeared to be arguing so admirably that Eryxias, if he had not been ashamed of
the bystanders, would probably have got up and struck him. For he thought that he had
been robbed of a great possession when it became obvious to him that he had been
wrong in his former opinion about wealth. I observed his vexation, and feared that they
would proceed to abuse and quarrelling: so I said,—I heard that very argument used in
the Lyceum yesterday by a wise man, Prodicus of Ceos; but the audience thought that
he was talking mere nonsense, and no one could be persuaded that he was speaking
the truth. And when at last a certain talkative young gentleman came in, and, taking his
seat, began to laugh and jeer at Prodicus, tormenting him and demanding an
explanation of his argument, he gained the ear of the audience far more than Prodicus.
Can you repeat the discourse to us? Said Erasistratus.
SOCRATES: If I can only remember it, I will. The youth began by asking Prodicus, In what
way did he think that riches were a good and in what an evil? Prodicus answered, as you
did just now, that they were a good to good men and to those who knew in what way
they should be employed, while to the bad and the ignorant they were an evil. The same
is true, he went on to say, of all other things; men make them to be what they are
themselves. The saying of Archilochus is true:—
‘Men’s thoughts correspond to the things which they meet with.’
Well, then, replied the youth, if any one makes me wise in that wisdom whereby good
men become wise, he must also make everything else good to me. Not that he concerns
himself at all with these other things, but he has converted my ignorance into wisdom.
If, for example, a person teach me grammar or music, he will at the same time teach me
all that relates to grammar or music, and so when he makes me good, he makes things
good to me.
Prodicus did not altogether agree: still he consented to what was said.
And do you think, said the youth, that doing good things is like building a house,—the
work of human agency; or do things remain what they were at first, good or bad, for all
time?
Prodicus began to suspect, I fancy, the direction which the argument was likely to take,
and did not wish to be put down by a mere stripling before all those present:—(if they
two had been alone, he would not have minded):—so he answered, cleverly enough: I
think that doing good things is a work of human agency.
And is virtue in your opinion, Prodicus, innate or acquired by instruction?
The latter, said Prodicus.
Then you would consider him a simpleton who supposed that he could obtain by
praying to the Gods the knowledge of grammar or music or any other art, which he
must either learn from another or find out for himself?
Prodicus agreed to this also.
And when you pray to the Gods that you may do well and receive good, you mean by
your prayer nothing else than that you desire to become good and wise:—if, at least,
things are good to the good and wise and evil to the evil. But in that case, if virtue is
acquired by instruction, it would appear that you only pray to be taught what you do
not know.
Hereupon I said to Prodicus that it was no misfortune to him if he had been proved to
be in error in supposing that the Gods immediately granted to us whatever we asked:—
if, I added, whenever you go up to the Acropolis you earnestly entreat the Gods to grant
you good things, although you know not whether they can yield your request, it is as
though you went to the doors of the grammarian and begged him, although you had
never made a study of the art, to give you a knowledge of grammar which would enable
you forthwith to do the business of a grammarian.
While I was speaking, Prodicus was preparing to retaliate upon his youthful assailant,
intending to employ the argument of which you have just made use; for he was
annoyed to have it supposed that he offered a vain prayer to the Gods. But the master
of the gymnasium came to him and begged him to leave because he was teaching the
youths doctrines which were unsuited to them, and therefore bad for them.
I have told you this because I want you to understand how men are circumstanced in
regard to philosophy. Had Prodicus been present and said what you have said, the
audience would have thought him raving, and he would have been ejected from the
gymnasium. But you have argued so excellently well that you have not only persuaded
your hearers, but have brought your opponent to an agreement. For just as in the law
courts, if two witnesses testify to the same fact, one of whom seems to be an honest
fellow and the other a rogue, the testimony of the rogue often has the contrary effect
on the judges’ minds to what he intended, while the same evidence if given by the
honest man at once strikes them as perfectly true. And probably the audience have
something of the same feeling about yourself and Prodicus; they think him a Sophist
and a braggart, and regard you as a gentleman of courtesy and worth. For they do not
pay attention to the argument so much as to the character of the speaker.
But truly, Socrates, said Erasistratus, though you may be joking, Critias does seem to me
to be saying something which is of weight.
SOCRATES: I am in profound earnest, I assure you. But why, as you have begun your
argument so prettily, do you not go on with the rest? There is still something lacking,
now you have agreed that (wealth) is a good to some and an evil to others. It remains to
enquire what constitutes wealth; for unless you know this, you cannot possibly come to
an understanding as to whether it is a good or an evil. I am ready to assist you in the
enquiry to the utmost of my power: but first let him who affirms that riches are a good,
tell us what, in his opinion, is wealth.
ERASISTRATUS: Indeed, Socrates, I have no notion about wealth beyond that which men
commonly have. I suppose that wealth is a quantity of money (compare Arist. Pol.); and
this, I imagine, would also be Critias’ definition.
SOCRATES: Then now we have to consider, What is money? Or else later on we shall be
found to differ about the question. For instance, the Carthaginians use money of this
sort. Something which is about the size of a stater is tied up in a small piece of leather:
what it is, no one knows but the makers. A seal is next set upon the leather, which then
passes into circulation, and he who has the largest number of such pieces is esteemed
the richest and best off. And yet if any one among us had a mass of such coins he would
be no wealthier than if he had so many pebbles from the mountain. At Lacedaemon,
again, they use iron by weight which has been rendered useless: and he who has the
greatest mass of such iron is thought to be the richest, although elsewhere it has no
value. In Ethiopia engraved stones are employed, of which a Lacedaemonian could make
no use. Once more, among the Nomad Scythians a man who owned the house of
Polytion would not be thought richer than one who possessed Mount Lycabettus
among ourselves. And clearly those things cannot all be regarded as possessions; for in
some cases the possessors would appear none the richer thereby: but, as I was saying,
some one of them is thought in one place to be money, and the possessors of it are the
wealthy, whereas in some other place it is not money, and the ownership of it does not
confer wealth; just as the standard of morals varies, and what is honourable to some
men is dishonourable to others. And if we wish to enquire why a house is valuable to us
but not to the Scythians, or why the Carthaginians value leather which is worthless to us,
or the Lacedaemonians find wealth in iron and we do not, can we not get an answer in
some such way as this: Would an Athenian, who had a thousand talents weight of the
stones which lie about in the Agora and which we do not employ for any purpose, be
thought to be any the richer?
ERASISTRATUS: He certainly would not appear so to me.
SOCRATES: But if he possessed a thousand talents weight of some precious stone, we
should say that he was very rich?
ERASISTRATUS: Of course.
SOCRATES: The reason is that the one is useless and the other useful?
ERASISTRATUS: Yes.
SOCRATES: And in the same way among the Scythians a house has no value because
they have no use for a house, nor would a Scythian set so much store on the finest
house in the world as on a leather coat, because he could use the one and not the other.
Or again, the Carthaginian coinage is not wealth in our eyes, for we could not employ it,
as we can silver, to procure what we need, and therefore it is of no use to us.
ERASISTRATUS: True.
SOCRATES: What is useful to us, then, is wealth, and what is useless to us is not wealth?
But how do you mean, Socrates? said Eryxias, interrupting. Do we not employ in our
intercourse with one another speech and violence (?) and various other things? These
are useful and yet they are not wealth.
SOCRATES: Clearly we have not yet answered the question, What is wealth? That wealth
must be useful, to be wealth at all,—thus much is acknowledged by every one. But what
particular thing is wealth, if not all things? Let us pursue the argument in another way;
and then we may perhaps find what we are seeking. What is the use of wealth, and for
what purpose has the possession of riches been invented,—in the sense, I mean, in
which drugs have been discovered for the cure of disease? Perhaps in this way we may
throw some light on the question. It appears to be clear that whatever constitutes
wealth must be useful, and that wealth is one class of useful things; and now we have to
enquire, What is the use of those useful things which constitute wealth? For all things
probably may be said to be useful which we use in production, just as all things which
have life are animals, but there is a special kind of animal which we call ‘man.’ Now if any
one were to ask us, What is that of which, if we were rid, we should not want medicine
and the instruments of medicine, we might reply that this would be the case if disease
were absent from our bodies and either never came to them at all or went away again as
soon as it appeared; and we may therefore conclude that medicine is the science which
is useful for getting rid of disease. But if we are further asked, What is that from which, if
we were free, we should have no need of wealth? can we give an answer? If we have
none, suppose that we restate the question thus:—If a man could live without food or
drink, and yet suffer neither hunger nor thirst, would he want either money or anything
else in order to supply his needs?
ERYXIAS: He would not.
SOCRATES: And does not this apply in other cases? If we did not want for the service of
the body the things of which we now stand in need, and heat and cold and the other
bodily sensations were unperceived by us, there would be no use in this so-called
wealth, if no one, that is, had any necessity for those things which now make us wish for
wealth in order that we may satisfy the desires and needs of the body in respect of our
various wants. And therefore if the possession of wealth is useful in ministering to our
bodily wants, and bodily wants were unknown to us, we should not need wealth, and
possibly there would be no such thing as wealth.
ERYXIAS: Clearly not.
SOCRATES: Then our conclusion is, as would appear, that wealth is what is useful to this
end?
Eryxias once more gave his assent, but the small argument considerably troubled him.
SOCRATES: And what is your opinion about another question:—Would you say that the
same thing can be at one time useful and at another useless for the production of the
same result?
ERYXIAS: I cannot say more than that if we require the same thing to produce the same
result, then it seems to me to be useful; if not, not.
SOCRATES: Then if without the aid of fire we could make a brazen statue, we should not
want fire for that purpose; and if we did not want it, it would be useless to us? And the
argument applies equally in other cases.
ERYXIAS: Clearly.
SOCRATES: And therefore conditions which are not required for the existence of a thing
are not useful for the production of it?
ERYXIAS: Of course not.
SOCRATES: And if without gold or silver or anything else which we do not use directly
for the body in the way that we do food and drink and bedding and houses,—if without
these we could satisfy the wants of the body, they would be of no use to us for that
purpose?
ERYXIAS: They would not.
SOCRATES: They would no longer be regarded as wealth, because they are useless,
whereas that would be wealth which enabled us to obtain what was useful to us?
ERYXIAS: O Socrates, you will never be able to persuade me that gold and silver and
similar things are not wealth. But I am very strongly of opinion that things which are
useless to us are not wealth, and that the money which is useful for this purpose is of
the greatest use; not that these things are not useful towards life, if by them we can
procure wealth.
SOCRATES: And how would you answer another question? There are persons, are there
not, who teach music and grammar and other arts for pay, and thus procure those
things of which they stand in need?
ERYXIAS: There are.
SOCRATES: And these men by the arts which they profess, and in exchange for them,
obtain the necessities of life just as we do by means of gold and silver?
ERYXIAS: True.
SOCRATES: Then if they procure by this means what they want for the purposes of life,
that art will be useful towards life? For do we not say that silver is useful because it
enables us to supply our bodily needs?
ERYXIAS: We do.
SOCRATES: Then if these arts are reckoned among things useful, the arts are wealth for
the same reason as gold and silver are, for, clearly, the possession of them gives wealth.
Yet a little while ago we found it difficult to accept the argument which proved that the
wisest are the wealthiest. But now there seems no escape from this conclusion. Suppose
that we are asked, ‘Is a horse useful to everybody?’ will not our reply be, ‘No, but only to
those who know how to use a horse?’
ERYXIAS: Certainly.
SOCRATES: And so, too, physic is not useful to every one, but only to him who knows
how to use it?
ERYXIAS: True.
SOCRATES: And the same is the case with everything else?
ERYXIAS: Yes.
SOCRATES: Then gold and silver and all the other elements which are supposed to make
up wealth are only useful to the person who knows how to use them?
ERYXIAS: Exactly.
SOCRATES: And were we not saying before that it was the business of a good man and a
gentleman to know where and how anything should be used?
ERYXIAS: Yes.
SOCRATES: The good and gentle, therefore will alone have profit from these things,
supposing at least that they know how to use them. But if so, to them only will they
seem to be wealth. It appears, however, that where a person is ignorant of riding, and
has horses which are useless to him, if some one teaches him that art, he makes him
also richer, for what was before useless has now become useful to him, and in giving
him knowledge he has also conferred riches upon him.
ERYXIAS: That is the case.
SOCRATES: Yet I dare be sworn that Critias will not be moved a whit by the argument.
CRITIAS: No, by heaven, I should be a madman if I were. But why do you not finish the
argument which proves that gold and silver and other things which seem to be wealth
are not real wealth? For I have been exceedingly delighted to hear the discourses which
you have just been holding.
SOCRATES: My argument, Critias (I said), appears to have given you the same kind of
pleasure which you might have derived from some rhapsode’s recitation of Homer; for
you do not believe a word of what has been said. But come now, give me an answer to
this question. Are not certain things useful to the builder when he is building a house?
CRITIAS: They are.
SOCRATES: And would you say that those things are useful which are employed in
house building,—stones and bricks and beams and the like, and also the instruments
with which the builder built the house, the beams and stones which they provided, and
again the instruments by which these were obtained?
CRITIAS: It seems to me that they are all useful for building.
SOCRATES: And is it not true of every art, that not only the materials but the instruments
by which we procure them and without which the work could not go on, are useful for
that art?
CRITIAS: Certainly.
SOCRATES: And further, the instruments by which the instruments are procured, and so
on, going back from stage to stage ad infinitum,—are not all these, in your opinion,
necessary in order to carry out the work?
CRITIAS: We may fairly suppose such to be the case.
SOCRATES: And if a man has food and drink and clothes and the other things which are
useful to the body, would he need gold or silver or any other means by which he could
procure that which he now has?
CRITIAS: I do not think so.
SOCRATES: Then you consider that a man never wants any of these things for the use of
the body?
CRITIAS: Certainly not.
SOCRATES: And if they appear useless to this end, ought they not always to appear
useless? For we have already laid down the principle that things cannot be at one time
useful and at another time not, in the same process.
CRITIAS: But in that respect your argument and mine are the same. For you maintain if
they are useful to a certain end, they can never become useless; whereas I say that in
order to accomplish some results bad things are needed, and good for others.
SOCRATES: But can a bad thing be used to carry out a good purpose?
CRITIAS: I should say not.
SOCRATES: And we call those actions good which a man does for the sake of virtue?
CRITIAS: Yes.
SOCRATES: But can a man learn any kind of knowledge which is imparted by word of
mouth if he is wholly deprived of the sense of hearing?
CRITIAS: Certainly not, I think.
SOCRATES: And will not hearing be useful for virtue, if virtue is taught by hearing and
we use the sense of hearing in giving instruction?
CRITIAS: Yes.
SOCRATES: And since medicine frees the sick man from his disease, that art too may
sometimes appear useful in the acquisition of virtue, e.g. when hearing is procured by
the aid of medicine.
CRITIAS: Very likely.
SOCRATES: But if, again, we obtain by wealth the aid of medicine, shall we not regard
wealth as useful for virtue?
CRITIAS: True.
SOCRATES: And also the instruments by which wealth is procured?
CRITIAS: Certainly.
SOCRATES: Then you think that a man may gain wealth by bad and disgraceful means,
and, having obtained the aid of medicine which enables him to acquire the power of
hearing, may use that very faculty for the acquisition of virtue?
CRITIAS: Yes, I do.
SOCRATES: But can that which is evil be useful for virtue?
CRITIAS: No.
SOCRATES: It is not therefore necessary that the means by which we obtain what is
useful for a certain object should always be useful for the same object: for it seems that
bad actions may sometimes serve good purposes? The matter will be still plainer if we
look at it in this way:—If things are useful towards the several ends for which they exist,
which ends would not come into existence without them, how would you regard them?
Can ignorance, for instance, be useful for knowledge, or disease for health, or vice for
virtue?
CRITIAS: Never.
SOCRATES: And yet we have already agreed—have we not?—that there can be no
knowledge where there has not previously been ignorance, nor health where there has
not been disease, nor virtue where there has not been vice?
CRITIAS: I think that we have.
SOCRATES: But then it would seem that the antecedents without which a thing cannot
exist are not necessarily useful to it. Otherwise ignorance would appear useful for
knowledge, disease for health, and vice for virtue.
Critias still showed great reluctance to accept any argument which went to prove that all
these things were useless. I saw that it was as difficult to persuade him as (according to
the proverb) it is to boil a stone, so I said: Let us bid ‘good-bye’ to the discussion, since
we cannot agree whether these things are useful and a part of wealth or not. But what
shall we say to another question: Which is the happier and better man,—he who
requires the greatest quantity of necessaries for body and diet, or he who requires only
the fewest and least? The answer will perhaps become more obvious if we suppose
some one, comparing the man himself at different times, to consider whether his
condition is better when he is sick or when he is well?
CRITIAS: That is not a question which needs much consideration.
SOCRATES: Probably, I said, every one can understand that health is a better condition
than disease. But when have we the greatest and the most various needs, when we are
sick or when we are well?
CRITIAS: When we are sick.
SOCRATES: And when we are in the worst state we have the greatest and most especial
need and desire of bodily pleasures?
CRITIAS: True.
SOCRATES: And seeing that a man is best off when he is least in need of such things,
does not the same reasoning apply to the case of any two persons, of whom one has
many and great wants and desires, and the other few and moderate? For instance, some
men are gamblers, some drunkards, and some gluttons: and gambling and the love of
drink and greediness are all desires?
CRITIAS: Certainly.
SOCRATES: But desires are only the lack of something: and those who have the greatest
desires are in a worse condition than those who have none or very slight ones?
CRITIAS: Certainly I consider that those who have such wants are bad, and that the
greater their wants the worse they are.
SOCRATES: And do we think it possible that a thing should be useful for a purpose
unless we have need of it for that purpose?
CRITIAS: No.
SOCRATES: Then if these things are useful for supplying the needs of the body, we must
want them for that purpose?
CRITIAS: That is my opinion.
SOCRATES: And he to whom the greatest number of things are useful for his purpose,
will also want the greatest number of means of accomplishing it, supposing that we
necessarily feel the want of all useful things?
CRITIAS: It seems so.
SOCRATES: The argument proves then that he who has great riches has likewise need of
many things for the supply of the wants of the body; for wealth appears useful towards
that end. And the richest must be in the worst condition, since they seem to be most in
want of such things.

IV
THE FIRST
ALCIBIADES

The First Alcibiades
Preface
It seems impossible to separate by any exact line the genuine writings of Plato from the
spurious. The only external evidence to them which is of much value is that of Aristotle;
for the Alexandrian catalogues of a century later include manifest forgeries. Even the
value of the Aristotelian authority is a good deal impaired by the uncertainty concerning
the date and authorship of the writings which are ascribed to him. And several of the
citations of Aristotle omit the name of Plato, and some of them omit the name of the
dialogue from which they are taken. Prior, however, to the enquiry about the writings of
a particular author, general considerations which equally affect all evidence to the
genuineness of ancient writings are the following: Shorter works are more likely to have
been forged, or to have received an erroneous designation, than longer ones; and some
kinds of composition, such as epistles or panegyrical orations, are more liable to
suspicion than others; those, again, which have a taste of sophistry in them, or the ring
of a later age, or the slighter character of a rhetorical exercise, or in which a motive or
some affinity to spurious writings can be detected, or which seem to have originated in
a name or statement really occurring in some classical author, are also of doubtful
credit; while there is no instance of any ancient writing proved to be a forgery, which
combines excellence with length. A really great and original writer would have no object
in fathering his works on Plato; and to the forger or imitator, the ‘literary hack’ of
Alexandria and Athens, the Gods did not grant originality or genius. Further, in
attempting to balance the evidence for and against a Platonic dialogue, we must not
forget that the form of the Platonic writing was common to several of his
contemporaries. Aeschines, Euclid, Phaedo, Antisthenes, and in the next generation
Aristotle, are all said to have composed dialogues; and mistakes of names are very likely
to have occurred. Greek literature in the third century before Christ was almost as
voluminous as our own, and without the safeguards of regular publication, or printing,
or binding, or even of distinct titles. An unknown writing was naturally attributed to a
known writer whose works bore the same character; and the name once appended
easily obtained authority. A tendency may also be observed to blend the works and
opinions of the master with those of his scholars. To a later Platonist, the difference
between Plato and his imitators was not so perceptible as to ourselves. The Memorabilia
of Xenophon and the Dialogues of Plato are but a part of a considerable Socratic
literature which has passed away. And we must consider how we should regard the
question of the genuineness of a particular writing, if this lost literature had been
preserved to us.
These considerations lead us to adopt the following criteria of genuineness: (1) That is
most certainly Plato’s which Aristotle attributes to him by name, which (2) is of
considerable length, of (3) great excellence, and also (4) in harmony with the general
spirit of the Platonic writings. But the testimony of Aristotle cannot always be
distinguished from that of a later age (see above); and has various degrees of
importance. Those writings which he cites without mentioning Plato, under their own
names, e.g. the Hippias, the Funeral Oration, the Phaedo, etc., have an inferior degree of
evidence in their favour. They may have been supposed by him to be the writings of
another, although in the case of really great works, e.g. the Phaedo, this is not credible;
those again which are quoted but not named, are still more defective in their external
credentials. There may be also a possibility that Aristotle was mistaken, or may have
confused the master and his scholars in the case of a short writing; but this is
inconceivable about a more important work, e.g. the Laws, especially when we
remember that he was living at Athens, and a frequenter of the groves of the Academy,
during the last twenty years of Plato’s life. Nor must we forget that in all his numerous
citations from the Platonic writings he never attributes any passage found in the extant
dialogues to any one but Plato. And lastly, we may remark that one or two great
writings, such as the Parmenides and the Politicus, which are wholly devoid of
Aristotelian (1) credentials may be fairly attributed to Plato, on the ground of (2) length,
(3) excellence, and (4) accordance with the general spirit of his writings. Indeed the
greater part of the evidence for the genuineness of ancient Greek authors may be
summed up under two heads only: (1) excellence; and (2) uniformity of tradition—a kind
of evidence, which though in many cases sufficient, is of inferior value.
Proceeding upon these principles we appear to arrive at the conclusion that nineteentwentieths
of all the writings which have ever been ascribed to Plato, are undoubtedly
genuine. There is another portion of them, including the Epistles, the Epinomis, the
dialogues rejected by the ancients themselves, namely, the Axiochus, De justo, De
virtute, Demodocus, Sisyphus, Eryxias, which on grounds, both of internal and external
evidence, we are able with equal certainty to reject. But there still remains a small
portion of which we are unable to affirm either that they are genuine or spurious. They
may have been written in youth, or possibly like the works of some painters, may be
partly or wholly the compositions of pupils; or they may have been the writings of some
contemporary transferred by accident to the more celebrated name of Plato, or of some
Platonist in the next generation who aspired to imitate his master. Not that on grounds
either of language or philosophy we should lightly reject them. Some difference of style,
or inferiority of execution, or inconsistency of thought, can hardly be considered
decisive of their spurious character. For who always does justice to himself, or who
writes with equal care at all times? Certainly not Plato, who exhibits the greatest
differences in dramatic power, in the formation of sentences, and in the use of words, if
his earlier writings are compared with his later ones, say the Protagoras or Phaedrus
with the Laws. Or who can be expected to think in the same manner during a period of
authorship extending over above fifty years, in an age of great intellectual activity, as
well as of political and literary transition? Certainly not Plato, whose earlier writings are
separated from his later ones by as wide an interval of philosophical speculation as that
which separates his later writings from Aristotle.
The dialogues which appear to have the next claim to genuineness among the Platonic
writings, are the Lesser Hippias, the Menexenus or Funeral Oration, the First Alcibiades.
Of these, the Lesser Hippias and the Funeral Oration are cited by Aristotle; the first in
the Metaphysics, the latter in the Rhetoric. Neither of them are expressly attributed to
Plato, but in his citation of both of them he seems to be referring to passages in the
extant dialogues. From the mention of ‘Hippias’ in the singular by Aristotle, we may
perhaps infer that he was unacquainted with a second dialogue bearing the same name.
Moreover, the mere existence of a Greater and Lesser Hippias, and of a First and Second
Alcibiades, does to a certain extent throw a doubt upon both of them. Though a very
clever and ingenious work, the Lesser Hippias does not appear to contain anything
beyond the power of an imitator, who was also a careful student of the earlier Platonic
writings, to invent. The motive or leading thought of the dialogue may be detected in
Xen. Mem., and there is no similar instance of a ‘motive’ which is taken from Xenophon
in an undoubted dialogue of Plato. On the other hand, the upholders of the
genuineness of the dialogue will find in the Hippias a true Socratic spirit; they will
compare the Ion as being akin both in subject and treatment; they will urge the
authority of Aristotle; and they will detect in the treatment of the Sophist, in the satirical
reasoning upon Homer, in the reductio ad absurdum of the doctrine that vice is
ignorance, traces of a Platonic authorship. In reference to the last point we are doubtful,
as in some of the other dialogues, whether the author is asserting or overthrowing the
paradox of Socrates, or merely following the argument ‘whither the wind blows.’ That no
conclusion is arrived at is also in accordance with the character of the earlier dialogues.
The resemblances or imitations of the Gorgias, Protagoras, and Euthydemus, which have
been observed in the Hippias, cannot with certainty be adduced on either side of the
argument. On the whole, more may be said in favour of the genuineness of the Hippias
than against it.
The Menexenus or Funeral Oration is cited by Aristotle, and is interesting as supplying
an example of the manner in which the orators praised ‘the Athenians among the
Athenians,’ falsifying persons and dates, and casting a veil over the gloomier events of
Athenian history. It exhibits an acquaintance with the funeral oration of Thucydides, and
was, perhaps, intended to rival that great work. If genuine, the proper place of the
Menexenus would be at the end of the Phaedrus. The satirical opening and the
concluding words bear a great resemblance to the earlier dialogues; the oration itself is
professedly a mimetic work, like the speeches in the Phaedrus, and cannot therefore be
tested by a comparison of the other writings of Plato. The funeral oration of Pericles is
expressly mentioned in the Phaedrus, and this may have suggested the subject, in the
same manner that the Cleitophon appears to be suggested by the slight mention of
Cleitophon and his attachment to Thrasymachus in the Republic; and the Theages by
the mention of Theages in the Apology and Republic; or as the Second Alcibiades seems
to be founded upon the text of Xenophon, Mem. A similar taste for parody appears not
only in the Phaedrus, but in the Protagoras, in the Symposium, and to a certain extent in
the Parmenides.
To these two doubtful writings of Plato I have added the First Alcibiades, which, of all
the disputed dialogues of Plato, has the greatest merit, and is somewhat longer than
any of them, though not verified by the testimony of Aristotle, and in many respects at
variance with the Symposium in the description of the relations of Socrates and
Alcibiades. Like the Lesser Hippias and the Menexenus, it is to be compared to the
earlier writings of Plato. The motive of the piece may, perhaps, be found in that passage
of the Symposium in which Alcibiades describes himself as self-convicted by the words
of Socrates. For the disparaging manner in which Schleiermacher has spoken of this
dialogue there seems to be no sufficient foundation. At the same time, the lesson
imparted is simple, and the irony more transparent than in the undoubted dialogues of
Plato. We know, too, that Alcibiades was a favourite thesis, and that at least five or six
dialogues bearing this name passed current in antiquity, and are attributed to
contemporaries of Socrates and Plato. (1) In the entire absence of real external evidence
(for the catalogues of the Alexandrian librarians cannot be regarded as trustworthy); and
(2) in the absence of the highest marks either of poetical or philosophical excellence;
and (3) considering that we have express testimony to the existence of contemporary
writings bearing the name of Alcibiades, we are compelled to suspend our judgment on
the genuineness of the extant dialogue.
Neither at this point, nor at any other, do we propose to draw an absolute line of
demarcation between genuine and spurious writings of Plato. They fade off
imperceptibly from one class to another. There may have been degrees of genuineness
in the dialogues themselves, as there are certainly degrees of evidence by which they
are supported. The traditions of the oral discourses both of Socrates and Plato may have
formed the basis of semi-Platonic writings; some of them may be of the same mixed
character which is apparent in Aristotle and Hippocrates, although the form of them is
different. But the writings of Plato, unlike the writings of Aristotle, seem never to have
been confused with the writings of his disciples: this was probably due to their definite
form, and to their inimitable excellence. The three dialogues which we have offered to
the criticism of the reader may be partly spurious and partly genuine; they may be
altogether spurious;—that is an alternative which must be frankly admitted. Nor can we
maintain of some other dialogues, such as the Parmenides, and the Sophist, and
Politicus, that no considerable objection can be urged against them, though greatly
overbalanced by the weight (chiefly) of internal evidence in their favour. Nor, on the
other hand, can we exclude a bare possibility that some dialogues which are usually
rejected, such as the Greater Hippias and the Cleitophon, may be genuine. The nature
and object of these semi-Platonic writings require more careful study and more
comparison of them with one another, and with forged writings in general, than they
have yet received, before we can finally decide on their character. We do not consider
them all as genuine until they can be proved to be spurious, as is often maintained and
still more often implied in this and similar discussions; but should say of some of them,
that their genuineness is neither proven nor disproven until further evidence about
them can be adduced. And we are as confident that the Epistles are spurious, as that the
Republic, the Timaeus, and the Laws are genuine.
On the whole, not a twentieth part of the writings which pass under the name of Plato, if
we exclude the works rejected by the ancients themselves and two or three other
plausible inventions, can be fairly doubted by those who are willing to allow that a
considerable change and growth may have taken place in his philosophy (see above).
That twentieth debatable portion scarcely in any degree affects our judgment of Plato,
either as a thinker or a writer, and though suggesting some interesting questions to the
scholar and critic, is of little importance to the general reader.
Introduction.
The First Alcibiades is a conversation between Socrates and Alcibiades. Socrates is
represented in the character which he attributes to himself in the Apology of a knownothing
who detects the conceit of knowledge in others. The two have met already in
the Protagoras and in the Symposium; in the latter dialogue, as in this, the relation
between them is that of a lover and his beloved. But the narrative of their loves is told
differently in different places; for in the Symposium Alcibiades is depicted as the
impassioned but rejected lover; here, as coldly receiving the advances of Socrates, who,
for the best of purposes, lies in wait for the aspiring and ambitious youth.
Alcibiades, who is described as a very young man, is about to enter on public life, having
an inordinate opinion of himself, and an extravagant ambition. Socrates, ‘who knows
what is in man,’ astonishes him by a revelation of his designs. But has he the knowledge
which is necessary for carrying them out? He is going to persuade the Athenians—about
what? Not about any particular art, but about politics—when to fight and when to make
peace. Now, men should fight and make peace on just grounds, and therefore the
question of justice and injustice must enter into peace and war; and he who advises the
Athenians must know the difference between them. Does Alcibiades know? If he does,
he must either have been taught by some master, or he must have discovered the
nature of them himself. If he has had a master, Socrates would like to be informed who
he is, that he may go and learn of him also. Alcibiades admits that he has never learned.
Then has he enquired for himself? He may have, if he was ever aware of a time when he
was ignorant. But he never was ignorant; for when he played with other boys at dice, he
charged them with cheating, and this implied a knowledge of just and unjust. According
to his own explanation, he had learned of the multitude. Why, he asks, should he not
learn of them the nature of justice, as he has learned the Greek language of them? To
this Socrates answers, that they can teach Greek, but they cannot teach justice; for they
are agreed about the one, but they are not agreed about the other: and therefore
Alcibiades, who has admitted that if he knows he must either have learned from a
master or have discovered for himself the nature of justice, is convicted out of his own
mouth.
Alcibiades rejoins, that the Athenians debate not about what is just, but about what is
expedient; and he asserts that the two principles of justice and expediency are opposed.
Socrates, by a series of questions, compels him to admit that the just and the expedient
coincide. Alcibiades is thus reduced to the humiliating conclusion that he knows nothing
of politics, even if, as he says, they are concerned with the expedient.
However, he is no worse than other Athenian statesmen; and he will not need training,
for others are as ignorant as he is. He is reminded that he has to contend, not only with
his own countrymen, but with their enemies—with the Spartan kings and with the great
king of Persia; and he can only attain this higher aim of ambition by the assistance of
Socrates. Not that Socrates himself professes to have attained the truth, but the
questions which he asks bring others to a knowledge of themselves, and this is the first
step in the practice of virtue.
The dialogue continues:—We wish to become as good as possible. But to be good in
what? Alcibiades replies—‘Good in transacting business.’ But what business? ‘The
business of the most intelligent men at Athens.’ The cobbler is intelligent in shoemaking,
and is therefore good in that; he is not intelligent, and therefore not good, in weaving. Is
he good in the sense which Alcibiades means, who is also bad? ‘I mean,’ replies
Alcibiades, ‘the man who is able to command in the city.’ But to command what—horses
or men? and if men, under what circumstances? ‘I mean to say, that he is able to
command men living in social and political relations.’ And what is their aim? ‘The better
preservation of the city.’ But when is a city better? ‘When there is unanimity, such as
exists between husband and wife.’ Then, when husbands and wives perform their own
special duties, there can be no unanimity between them; nor can a city be well ordered
when each citizen does his own work only. Alcibiades, having stated first that goodness
consists in the unanimity of the citizens, and then in each of them doing his own
separate work, is brought to the required point of self-contradiction, leading him to
confess his own ignorance.
But he is not too old to learn, and may still arrive at the truth, if he is willing to be crossexamined
by Socrates. He must know himself; that is to say, not his body, or the things
of the body, but his mind, or truer self. The physician knows the body, and the
tradesman knows his own business, but they do not necessarily know themselves. Selfknowledge
can be obtained only by looking into the mind and virtue of the soul, which
is the diviner part of a man, as we see our own image in another’s eye. And if we do not
know ourselves, we cannot know what belongs to ourselves or belongs to others, and
are unfit to take a part in political affairs. Both for the sake of the individual and of the
state, we ought to aim at justice and temperance, not at wealth or power. The evil and
unjust should have no power,—they should be the slaves of better men than
themselves. None but the virtuous are deserving of freedom.
And are you, Alcibiades, a freeman? ‘I feel that I am not; but I hope, Socrates, that by
your aid I may become free, and from this day forward I will never leave you.’
The Alcibiades has several points of resemblance to the undoubted dialogues of Plato.
The process of interrogation is of the same kind with that which Socrates practises upon
the youthful Cleinias in the Euthydemus; and he characteristically attributes to Alcibiades
the answers which he has elicited from him. The definition of good is narrowed by
successive questions, and virtue is shown to be identical with knowledge. Here, as
elsewhere, Socrates awakens the consciousness not of sin but of ignorance. Selfhumiliation
is the first step to knowledge, even of the commonest things. No man
knows how ignorant he is, and no man can arrive at virtue and wisdom who has not
once in his life, at least, been convicted of error. The process by which the soul is
elevated is not unlike that which religious writers describe under the name of
‘conversion,’ if we substitute the sense of ignorance for the consciousness of sin.
In some respects the dialogue differs from any other Platonic composition. The aim is
more directly ethical and hortatory; the process by which the antagonist is undermined
is simpler than in other Platonic writings, and the conclusion more decided. There is a
good deal of humour in the manner in which the pride of Alcibiades, and of the Greeks
generally, is supposed to be taken down by the Spartan and Persian queens; and the
dialogue has considerable dialectical merit. But we have a difficulty in supposing that
the same writer, who has given so profound and complex a notion of the characters
both of Alcibiades and Socrates in the Symposium, should have treated them in so thin
and superficial a manner in the Alcibiades, or that he would have ascribed to the ironical
Socrates the rather unmeaning boast that Alcibiades could not attain the objects of his
ambition without his help; or that he should have imagined that a mighty nature like his
could have been reformed by a few not very conclusive words of Socrates. For the
arguments by which Alcibiades is reformed are not convincing; the writer of the
dialogue, whoever he was, arrives at his idealism by crooked and tortuous paths, in
which many pitfalls are concealed. The anachronism of making Alcibiades about twenty
years old during the life of his uncle, Pericles, may be noted; and the repetition of the
favourite observation, which occurs also in the Laches and Protagoras, that great
Athenian statesmen, like Pericles, failed in the education of their sons. There is none of
the undoubted dialogues of Plato in which there is so little dramatic verisimilitude.
THE FIRST ALCIBIADES
PERSONS OF THE DIALOGUE: Alcibiades, Socrates.
Socrates: I dare say that you may be surprised to find, O son of Cleinias, that I, who am
your first lover, not having spoken to you for many years, when the rest of the world
were wearying you with their attentions, am the last of your lovers who still speaks to
you. The cause of my silence has been that I was hindered by a power more than
human, of which I will some day explain to you the nature; this impediment has now
been removed; I therefore here present myself before you, and I greatly hope that no
similar hindrance will again occur. Meanwhile, I have observed that your pride has been
too much for the pride of your admirers; they were numerous and high-spirited, but
they have all run away, overpowered by your superior force of character; not one of
them remains. And I want you to understand the reason why you have been too much
for them. You think that you have no need of them or of any other man, for you have
great possessions and lack nothing, beginning with the body, and ending with the soul.
In the first place, you say to yourself that you are the fairest and tallest of the citizens,
and this every one who has eyes may see to be true; in the second place, that you are
among the noblest of them, highly connected both on the father’s and the mother’s
side, and sprung from one of the most distinguished families in your own state, which is
the greatest in Hellas, and having many friends and kinsmen of the best sort, who can
assist you when in need; and there is one potent relative, who is more to you than all
the rest, Pericles the son of Xanthippus, whom your father left guardian of you, and of
your brother, and who can do as he pleases not only in this city, but in all Hellas, and
among many and mighty barbarous nations. Moreover, you are rich; but I must say that
you value yourself least of all upon your possessions. And all these things have lifted
you up; you have overcome your lovers, and they have acknowledged that you were too
much for them. Have you not remarked their absence? And now I know that you wonder
why I, unlike the rest of them, have not gone away, and what can be my motive in
remaining.
Alcibiades: Perhaps, Socrates, you are not aware that I was just going to ask you the very
same question—What do you want? And what is your motive in annoying me, and
always, wherever I am, making a point of coming? (Compare Symp.) I do really wonder
what you mean, and should greatly like to know.
Socrates: Then if, as you say, you desire to know, I suppose that you will be willing to
hear, and I may consider myself to be speaking to an auditor who will remain, and will
not run away?
Alcibiades: Certainly, let me hear.
Socrates: You had better be careful, for I may very likely be as unwilling to end as I have
hitherto been to begin.
Alcibiades: Proceed, my good man, and I will listen.
Socrates: I will proceed; and, although no lover likes to speak with one who has no
feeling of love in him (compare Symp.), I will make an effort, and tell you what I meant:
My love, Alcibiades, which I hardly like to confess, would long ago have passed away, as
I flatter myself, if I saw you loving your good things, or thinking that you ought to pass
life in the enjoyment of them. But I shall reveal other thoughts of yours, which you keep
to yourself; whereby you will know that I have always had my eye on you. Suppose that
at this moment some God came to you and said: Alcibiades, will you live as you are, or
die in an instant if you are forbidden to make any further acquisition?—I verily believe
that you would choose death. And I will tell you the hope in which you are at present
living: Before many days have elapsed, you think that you will come before the Athenian
assembly, and will prove to them that you are more worthy of honour than Pericles, or
any other man that ever lived, and having proved this, you will have the greatest power
in the state. When you have gained the greatest power among us, you will go on to
other Hellenic states, and not only to Hellenes, but to all the barbarians who inhabit the
same continent with us. And if the God were then to say to you again: Here in Europe is
to be your seat of empire, and you must not cross over into Asia or meddle with Asiatic
affairs, I do not believe that you would choose to live upon these terms; but the world,
as I may say, must be filled with your power and name—no man less than Cyrus and
Xerxes is of any account with you. Such I know to be your hopes—I am not guessing
only—and very likely you, who know that I am speaking the truth, will reply, Well,
Socrates, but what have my hopes to do with the explanation which you promised of
your unwillingness to leave me? And that is what I am now going to tell you, sweet son
of Cleinias and Dinomache. The explanation is, that all these designs of yours cannot be
accomplished by you without my help; so great is the power which I believe myself to
have over you and your concerns; and this I conceive to be the reason why the God has
hitherto forbidden me to converse with you, and I have been long expecting his
permission. For, as you hope to prove your own great value to the state, and having
proved it, to attain at once to absolute power, so do I indulge a hope that I shall be the
supreme power over you, if I am able to prove my own great value to you, and to show
you that neither guardian, nor kinsman, nor any one is able to deliver into your hands
the power which you desire, but I only, God being my helper. When you were young
(compare Symp.) and your hopes were not yet matured, I should have wasted my time,
and therefore, as I conceive, the God forbade me to converse with you; but now, having
his permission, I will speak, for now you will listen to me.
Alcibiades: Your silence, Socrates, was always a surprise to me. I never could understand
why you followed me about, and now that you have begun to speak again, I am still
more amazed. Whether I think all this or not, is a matter about which you seem to have
already made up your mind, and therefore my denial will have no effect upon you. But
granting, if I must, that you have perfectly divined my purposes, why is your assistance
necessary to the attainment of them? Can you tell me why?
Socrates: You want to know whether I can make a long speech, such as you are in the
habit of hearing; but that is not my way. I think, however, that I can prove to you the
truth of what I am saying, if you will grant me one little favour.
Alcibiades: Yes, if the favour which you mean be not a troublesome one.
Socrates: Will you be troubled at having questions to answer?
Alcibiades: Not at all.
Socrates: Then please to answer.
Alcibiades: Ask me.
Socrates: Have you not the intention which I attribute to you?
Alcibiades: I will grant anything you like, in the hope of hearing what more you have to
say.
Socrates: You do, then, mean, as I was saying, to come forward in a little while in the
character of an adviser of the Athenians? And suppose that when you are ascending the
bema, I pull you by the sleeve and say, Alcibiades, you are getting up to advise the
Athenians—do you know the matter about which they are going to deliberate, better
than they?—How would you answer?
Alcibiades: I should reply, that I was going to advise them about a matter which I do
know better than they.
Socrates: Then you are a good adviser about the things which you know?
Alcibiades: Certainly.
Socrates: And do you know anything but what you have learned of others, or found out
yourself?
Alcibiades: That is all.
Socrates: And would you have ever learned or discovered anything, if you had not been
willing either to learn of others or to examine yourself?
Alcibiades: I should not.
Socrates: And would you have been willing to learn or to examine what you supposed
that you knew?
Alcibiades: Certainly not.
Socrates: Then there was a time when you thought that you did not know what you are
now supposed to know?
Alcibiades: Certainly.
Socrates: I think that I know tolerably well the extent of your acquirements; and you
must tell me if I forget any of them: according to my recollection, you learned the arts of
writing, of playing on the lyre, and of wrestling; the flute you never would learn; this is
the sum of your accomplishments, unless there were some which you acquired in secret;
and I think that secrecy was hardly possible, as you could not have come out of your
door, either by day or night, without my seeing you.
Alcibiades: Yes, that was the whole of my schooling.
Socrates: And are you going to get up in the Athenian assembly, and give them advice
about writing?
Alcibiades: No, indeed.
Socrates: Or about the touch of the lyre?
Alcibiades: Certainly not.
Socrates: And they are not in the habit of deliberating about wrestling, in the assembly?
Alcibiades: Hardly.
Socrates: Then what are the deliberations in which you propose to advise them? Surely
not about building?
Alcibiades: No.
Socrates: For the builder will advise better than you will about that?
Alcibiades: He will.
Socrates: Nor about divination?
Alcibiades: No.
Socrates: About that again the diviner will advise better than you will?
Alcibiades: True.
Socrates: Whether he be little or great, good or ill-looking, noble or ignoble—makes no
difference.
Alcibiades: Certainly not.
Socrates: A man is a good adviser about anything, not because he has riches, but
because he has knowledge?
Alcibiades: Assuredly.
Socrates: Whether their counsellor is rich or poor, is not a matter which will make any
difference to the Athenians when they are deliberating about the health of the citizens;
they only require that he should be a physician.
Alcibiades: Of course.
Socrates: Then what will be the subject of deliberation about which you will be justified
in getting up and advising them?
Alcibiades: About their own concerns, Socrates.
Socrates: You mean about shipbuilding, for example, when the question is what sort of
ships they ought to build?
Alcibiades: No, I should not advise them about that.
Socrates: I suppose, because you do not understand shipbuilding:—is that the reason?
Alcibiades: It is.
Socrates: Then about what concerns of theirs will you advise them?
Alcibiades: About war, Socrates, or about peace, or about any other concerns of the
state.
Socrates: You mean, when they deliberate with whom they ought to make peace, and
with whom they ought to go to war, and in what manner?
Alcibiades: Yes.
Socrates: And they ought to go to war with those against whom it is better to go to
war?
Alcibiades: Yes.
Socrates: And when it is better?
Alcibiades: Certainly.
Socrates: And for as long a time as is better?
Alcibiades: Yes.
Socrates: But suppose the Athenians to deliberate with whom they ought to close in
wrestling, and whom they should grasp by the hand, would you, or the master of
gymnastics, be a better adviser of them?
Alcibiades: Clearly, the master of gymnastics.
Socrates: And can you tell me on what grounds the master of gymnastics would decide,
with whom they ought or ought not to close, and when and how? To take an instance:
Would he not say that they should wrestle with those against whom it is best to wrestle?
Alcibiades: Yes.
Socrates: And as much as is best?
Alcibiades: Certainly.
Socrates: And at such times as are best?
Alcibiades: Yes.
Socrates: Again; you sometimes accompany the lyre with the song and dance?
Alcibiades: Yes.
Socrates: When it is well to do so?
Alcibiades: Yes.
Socrates: And as much as is well?
Alcibiades: Just so.
Socrates: And as you speak of an excellence or art of the best in wrestling, and of an
excellence in playing the lyre, I wish you would tell me what this latter is;—the
excellence of wrestling I call gymnastic, and I want to know what you call the other.
Alcibiades: I do not understand you.
Socrates: Then try to do as I do; for the answer which I gave is universally right, and
when I say right, I mean according to rule.
Alcibiades: Yes.
Socrates: And was not the art of which I spoke gymnastic?
Alcibiades: Certainly.
Socrates: And I called the excellence in wrestling gymnastic?
Alcibiades: You did.
Socrates: And I was right?
Alcibiades: I think that you were.
Socrates: Well, now,—for you should learn to argue prettily—let me ask you in return to
tell me, first, what is that art of which playing and singing, and stepping properly in the
dance, are parts,—what is the name of the whole? I think that by this time you must be
able to tell.
Alcibiades: Indeed I cannot.
Socrates: Then let me put the matter in another way: what do you call the Goddesses
who are the patronesses of art?
Alcibiades: The Muses do you mean, Socrates?
Socrates: Yes, I do; and what is the name of the art which is called after them?
Alcibiades: I suppose that you mean music.
Socrates: Yes, that is my meaning; and what is the excellence of the art of music, as I told
you truly that the excellence of wrestling was gymnastic—what is the excellence of
music—to be what?
Alcibiades: To be musical, I suppose.
Socrates: Very good; and now please to tell me what is the excellence of war and peace;
as the more musical was the more excellent, or the more gymnastical was the more
excellent, tell me, what name do you give to the more excellent in war and peace?
Alcibiades: But I really cannot tell you.
Socrates: But if you were offering advice to another and said to him—This food is better
than that, at this time and in this quantity, and he said to you—What do you mean,
Alcibiades, by the word ‘better’? you would have no difficulty in replying that you meant
‘more wholesome,’ although you do not profess to be a physician: and when the subject
is one of which you profess to have knowledge, and about which you are ready to get
up and advise as if you knew, are you not ashamed, when you are asked, not to be able
to answer the question? Is it not disgraceful?
Alcibiades: Very.
Socrates: Well, then, consider and try to explain what is the meaning of ‘better,’ in the
matter of making peace and going to war with those against whom you ought to go to
war? To what does the word refer?
Alcibiades: I am thinking, and I cannot tell.
Socrates: But you surely know what are the charges which we bring against one another,
when we arrive at the point of making war, and what name we give them?
Alcibiades: Yes, certainly; we say that deceit or violence has been employed, or that we
have been defrauded.
Socrates: And how does this happen? Will you tell me how? For there may be a
difference in the manner.
Alcibiades: Do you mean by ‘how,’ Socrates, whether we suffered these things justly or
unjustly?
Socrates: Exactly.
Alcibiades: There can be no greater difference than between just and unjust.
Socrates: And would you advise the Athenians to go to war with the just or with the
unjust?
Alcibiades: That is an awkward question; for certainly, even if a person did intend to go
to war with the just, he would not admit that they were just.
Socrates: He would not go to war, because it would be unlawful?
Alcibiades: Neither lawful nor honourable.
Socrates: Then you, too, would address them on principles of justice?
Alcibiades: Certainly.
Socrates: What, then, is justice but that better, of which I spoke, in going to war or not
going to war with those against whom we ought or ought not, and when we ought or
ought not to go to war?
Alcibiades: Clearly.
Socrates: But how is this, friend Alcibiades? Have you forgotten that you do not know
this, or have you been to the schoolmaster without my knowledge, and has he taught
you to discern the just from the unjust? Who is he? I wish you would tell me, that I may
go and learn of him—you shall introduce me.
Alcibiades: You are mocking, Socrates.
Socrates: No, indeed; I most solemnly declare to you by Zeus, who is the God of our
common friendship, and whom I never will forswear, that I am not; tell me, then, who
this instructor is, if he exists.
Alcibiades: But, perhaps, he does not exist; may I not have acquired the knowledge of
just and unjust in some other way?
Socrates: Yes; if you have discovered them.
Alcibiades: But do you not think that I could discover them?
Socrates: I am sure that you might, if you enquired about them.
Alcibiades: And do you not think that I would enquire?
Socrates: Yes; if you thought that you did not know them.
Alcibiades: And was there not a time when I did so think?
Socrates: Very good; and can you tell me how long it is since you thought that you did
not know the nature of the just and the unjust? What do you say to a year ago? Were
you then in a state of conscious ignorance and enquiry? Or did you think that you
knew? And please to answer truly, that our discussion may not be in vain.
Alcibiades: Well, I thought that I knew.
Socrates: And two years ago, and three years ago, and four years ago, you knew all the
same?
Alcibiades: I did.
Socrates: And more than four years ago you were a child—were you not?
Alcibiades: Yes.
Socrates: And then I am quite sure that you thought you knew.
Alcibiades: Why are you so sure?
Socrates: Because I often heard you when a child, in your teacher’s house, or elsewhere,
playing at dice or some other game with the boys, not hesitating at all about the nature
of the just and unjust; but very confident—crying and shouting that one of the boys was
a rogue and a cheat, and had been cheating. Is it not true?
Alcibiades: But what was I to do, Socrates, when anybody cheated me?
Socrates: And how can you say, ‘What was I to do’? if at the time you did not know
whether you were wronged or not?
Alcibiades: To be sure I knew; I was quite aware that I was being cheated.
Socrates: Then you suppose yourself even when a child to have known the nature of just
and unjust?
Alcibiades: Certainly; and I did know then.
Socrates: And when did you discover them—not, surely, at the time when you thought
that you knew them?
Alcibiades: Certainly not.
Socrates: And when did you think that you were ignorant—if you consider, you will find
that there never was such a time?
Alcibiades: Really, Socrates, I cannot say.
Socrates: Then you did not learn them by discovering them?
Alcibiades: Clearly not.
Socrates: But just before you said that you did not know them by learning; now, if you
have neither discovered nor learned them, how and whence do you come to know
them?
Alcibiades: I suppose that I was mistaken in saying that I knew them through my own
discovery of them; whereas, in truth, I learned them in the same way that other people
learn.
Socrates: So you said before, and I must again ask, of whom? Do tell me.
Alcibiades: Of the many.
Socrates: Do you take refuge in them? I cannot say much for your teachers.
Alcibiades: Why, are they not able to teach?
Socrates: They could not teach you how to play at draughts, which you would
acknowledge (would you not) to be a much smaller matter than justice?
Alcibiades: Yes.
Socrates: And can they teach the better who are unable to teach the worse?
Alcibiades: I think that they can; at any rate, they can teach many far better things than
to play at draughts.
Socrates: What things?
Alcibiades: Why, for example, I learned to speak Greek of them, and I cannot say who
was my teacher, or to whom I am to attribute my knowledge of Greek, if not to those
good-for-nothing teachers, as you call them.
Socrates: Why, yes, my friend; and the many are good enough teachers of Greek, and
some of their instructions in that line may be justly praised.
Alcibiades: Why is that?
Socrates: Why, because they have the qualities which good teachers ought to have.
Alcibiades: What qualities?
Socrates: Why, you know that knowledge is the first qualification of any teacher?
Alcibiades: Certainly.
Socrates: And if they know, they must agree together and not differ?
Alcibiades: Yes.
Socrates: And would you say that they knew the things about which they differ?
Alcibiades: No.
Socrates: Then how can they teach them?
Alcibiades: They cannot.
Socrates: Well, but do you imagine that the many would differ about the nature of wood
and stone? are they not agreed if you ask them what they are? and do they not run to
fetch the same thing, when they want a piece of wood or a stone? And so in similar
cases, which I suspect to be pretty nearly all that you mean by speaking Greek.
Alcibiades: True.
Socrates: These, as we were saying, are matters about which they are agreed with one
another and with themselves; both individuals and states use the same words about
them; they do not use some one word and some another.
Alcibiades: They do not.
Socrates: Then they may be expected to be good teachers of these things?
Alcibiades: Yes.
Socrates: And if we want to instruct any one in them, we shall be right in sending him to
be taught by our friends the many?
Alcibiades: Very true.
Socrates: But if we wanted further to know not only which are men and which are
horses, but which men or horses have powers of running, would the many still be able
to inform us?
Alcibiades: Certainly not.
Socrates: And you have a sufficient proof that they do not know these things and are
not the best teachers of them, inasmuch as they are never agreed about them?
Alcibiades: Yes.
Socrates: And suppose that we wanted to know not only what men are like, but what
healthy or diseased men are like—would the many be able to teach us?
Alcibiades: They would not.
Socrates: And you would have a proof that they were bad teachers of these matters, if
you saw them at variance?
Alcibiades: I should.
Socrates: Well, but are the many agreed with themselves, or with one another, about the
justice or injustice of men and things?
Alcibiades: Assuredly not, Socrates.
Socrates: There is no subject about which they are more at variance?
Alcibiades: None.
Socrates: I do not suppose that you ever saw or heard of men quarrelling over the
principles of health and disease to such an extent as to go to war and kill one another
for the sake of them?
Alcibiades: No indeed.
Socrates: But of the quarrels about justice and injustice, even if you have never seen
them, you have certainly heard from many people, including Homer; for you have heard
of the Iliad and Odyssey?
Alcibiades: To be sure, Socrates.
Socrates: A difference of just and unjust is the argument of those poems?
Alcibiades: True.
Socrates: Which difference caused all the wars and deaths of Trojans and Achaeans, and
the deaths of the suitors of Penelope in their quarrel with Odysseus.
Alcibiades: Very true.
Socrates: And when the Athenians and Lacedaemonians and Boeotians fell at Tanagra,
and afterwards in the battle of Coronea, at which your father Cleinias met his end, the
question was one of justice—this was the sole cause of the battles, and of their deaths.
Alcibiades: Very true.
Socrates: But can they be said to understand that about which they are quarrelling to
the death?
Alcibiades: Clearly not.
Socrates: And yet those whom you thus allow to be ignorant are the teachers to whom
you are appealing.
Alcibiades: Very true.
Socrates: But how are you ever likely to know the nature of justice and injustice, about
which you are so perplexed, if you have neither learned them of others nor discovered
them yourself?
Alcibiades: From what you say, I suppose not.
Socrates: See, again, how inaccurately you speak, Alcibiades!
Alcibiades: In what respect?
Socrates: In saying that I say so.
Alcibiades: Why, did you not say that I know nothing of the just and unjust?
Socrates: No; I did not.
Alcibiades: Did I, then?
Socrates: Yes.
Alcibiades: How was that?
Socrates: Let me explain. Suppose I were to ask you which is the greater number, two or
one; you would reply ‘two’?
Alcibiades: I should.
Socrates: And by how much greater?
Alcibiades: By one.
Socrates: Which of us now says that two is more than one?
Alcibiades: I do.
Socrates: Did not I ask, and you answer the question?
Alcibiades: Yes.
Socrates: Then who is speaking? I who put the question, or you who answer me?
Alcibiades: I am.
Socrates: Or suppose that I ask and you tell me the letters which make up the name
Socrates, which of us is the speaker?
Alcibiades: I am.
Socrates: Now let us put the case generally: whenever there is a question and answer,
who is the speaker,—the questioner or the answerer?
Alcibiades: I should say, Socrates, that the answerer was the speaker.
Socrates: And have I not been the questioner all through?
Alcibiades: Yes.
Socrates: And you the answerer?
Alcibiades: Just so.
Socrates: Which of us, then, was the speaker?
Alcibiades: The inference is, Socrates, that I was the speaker.
Socrates: Did not some one say that Alcibiades, the fair son of Cleinias, not
understanding about just and unjust, but thinking that he did understand, was going to
the assembly to advise the Athenians about what he did not know? Was not that said?
Alcibiades: Very true.
Socrates: Then, Alcibiades, the result may be expressed in the language of Euripides. I
think that you have heard all this ‘from yourself, and not from me’; nor did I say this,
which you erroneously attribute to me, but you yourself, and what you said was very
true. For indeed, my dear fellow, the design which you meditate of teaching what you
do not know, and have not taken any pains to learn, is downright insanity.
Alcibiades: But, Socrates, I think that the Athenians and the rest of the Hellenes do not
often advise as to the more just or unjust; for they see no difficulty in them, and
therefore they leave them, and consider which course of action will be most expedient;
for there is a difference between justice and expediency. Many persons have done great
wrong and profited by their injustice; others have done rightly and come to no good.
Socrates: Well, but granting that the just and the expedient are ever so much opposed,
you surely do not imagine that you know what is expedient for mankind, or why a thing
is expedient?
Alcibiades: Why not, Socrates?—But I am not going to be asked again from whom I
learned, or when I made the discovery.
Socrates: What a way you have! When you make a mistake which might be refuted by a
previous argument, you insist on having a new and different refutation; the old
argument is a worn-our garment which you will no longer put on, but some one must
produce another which is clean and new. Now I shall disregard this move of yours, and
shall ask over again,—Where did you learn and how do you know the nature of the
expedient, and who is your teacher? All this I comprehend in a single question, and now
you will manifestly be in the old difficulty, and will not be able to show that you know
the expedient, either because you learned or because you discovered it yourself. But, as
I perceive that you are dainty, and dislike the taste of a stale argument, I will enquire no
further into your knowledge of what is expedient or what is not expedient for the
Athenian people, and simply request you to say why you do not explain whether justice
and expediency are the same or different? And if you like you may examine me as I have
examined you, or, if you would rather, you may carry on the discussion by yourself.
Alcibiades: But I am not certain, Socrates, whether I shall be able to discuss the matter
with you.
Socrates: Then imagine, my dear fellow, that I am the demus and the ecclesia; for in the
ecclesia, too, you will have to persuade men individually.
Alcibiades: Yes.
Socrates: And is not the same person able to persuade one individual singly and many
individuals of the things which he knows? The grammarian, for example, can persuade
one and he can persuade many about letters.
Alcibiades: True.
Socrates: And about number, will not the same person persuade one and persuade
many?
Alcibiades: Yes.
Socrates: And this will be he who knows number, or the arithmetician?
Alcibiades: Quite true.
Socrates: And cannot you persuade one man about that of which you can persuade
many?
Alcibiades: I suppose so.
Socrates: And that of which you can persuade either is clearly what you know?
Alcibiades: Yes.
Socrates: And the only difference between one who argues as we are doing, and the
orator who is addressing an assembly, is that the one seeks to persuade a number, and
the other an individual, of the same things.
Alcibiades: I suppose so.
Socrates: Well, then, since the same person who can persuade a multitude can persuade
individuals, try conclusions upon me, and prove to me that the just is not always
expedient.
Alcibiades: You take liberties, Socrates.
Socrates: I shall take the liberty of proving to you the opposite of that which you will not
prove to me.
Alcibiades: Proceed.
Socrates: Answer my questions—that is all.
Alcibiades: Nay, I should like you to be the speaker.
Socrates: What, do you not wish to be persuaded?
Alcibiades: Certainly I do.
Socrates: And can you be persuaded better than out of your own mouth?
Alcibiades: I think not.
Socrates: Then you shall answer; and if you do not hear the words, that the just is the
expedient, coming from your own lips, never believe another man again.
Alcibiades: I won’t; but answer I will, for I do not see how I can come to any harm.
Socrates: A true prophecy! Let me begin then by enquiring of you whether you allow
that the just is sometimes expedient and sometimes not?
Alcibiades: Yes.
Socrates: And sometimes honourable and sometimes not?
Alcibiades: What do you mean?
Socrates: I am asking if you ever knew any one who did what was dishonourable and yet
just?
Alcibiades: Never.
Socrates: All just things are honourable?
Alcibiades: Yes.
Socrates: And are honourable things sometimes good and sometimes not good, or are
they always good?
Alcibiades: I rather think, Socrates, that some honourable things are evil.
Socrates: And are some dishonourable things good?
Alcibiades: Yes.
Socrates: You mean in such a case as the following:—In time of war, men have been
wounded or have died in rescuing a companion or kinsman, when others who have
neglected the duty of rescuing them have escaped in safety?
Alcibiades: True.
Socrates: And to rescue another under such circumstances is honourable, in respect of
the attempt to save those whom we ought to save; and this is courage?
Alcibiades: True.
Socrates: But evil in respect of death and wounds?
Alcibiades: Yes.
Socrates: And the courage which is shown in the rescue is one thing, and the death
another?
Alcibiades: Certainly.
Socrates: Then the rescue of one’s friends is honourable in one point of view, but evil in
another?
Alcibiades: True.
Socrates: And if honourable, then also good: Will you consider now whether I may not
be right, for you were acknowledging that the courage which is shown in the rescue is
honourable? Now is this courage good or evil? Look at the matter thus: which would
you rather choose, good or evil?
Alcibiades: Good.
Socrates: And the greatest goods you would be most ready to choose, and would least
like to be deprived of them?
Alcibiades: Certainly.
Socrates: What would you say of courage? At what price would you be willing to be
deprived of courage?
Alcibiades: I would rather die than be a coward.
Socrates: Then you think that cowardice is the worst of evils?
Alcibiades: I do.
Socrates: As bad as death, I suppose?
Alcibiades: Yes.
Socrates: And life and courage are the extreme opposites of death and cowardice?
Alcibiades: Yes.
Socrates: And they are what you would most desire to have, and their opposites you
would least desire?
Alcibiades: Yes.
Socrates: Is this because you think life and courage the best, and death and cowardice
the worst?
Alcibiades: Yes.
Socrates: And you would term the rescue of a friend in battle honourable, in as much as
courage does a good work?
Alcibiades: I should.
Socrates: But evil because of the death which ensues?
Alcibiades: Yes.
Socrates: Might we not describe their different effects as follows:—You may call either of
them evil in respect of the evil which is the result, and good in respect of the good
which is the result of either of them?
Alcibiades: Yes.
Socrates: And they are honourable in so far as they are good, and dishonourable in so
far as they are evil?
Alcibiades: True.
Socrates: Then when you say that the rescue of a friend in battle is honourable and yet
evil, that is equivalent to saying that the rescue is good and yet evil?
Alcibiades: I believe that you are right, Socrates.
Socrates: Nothing honourable, regarded as honourable, is evil; nor anything base,
regarded as base, good.
Alcibiades: Clearly not.
Socrates: Look at the matter yet once more in a further light: he who acts honourably
acts well?
Alcibiades: Yes.
Socrates: And he who acts well is happy?
Alcibiades: Of course.
Socrates: And the happy are those who obtain good?
Alcibiades: True.
Socrates: And they obtain good by acting well and honourably?
Alcibiades: Yes.
Socrates: Then acting well is a good?
Alcibiades: Certainly.
Socrates: And happiness is a good?
Alcibiades: Yes.
Socrates: Then the good and the honourable are again identified.
Alcibiades: Manifestly.
Socrates: Then, if the argument holds, what we find to be honourable we shall also find
to be good?
Alcibiades: Certainly.
Socrates: And is the good expedient or not?
Alcibiades: Expedient.
Socrates: Do you remember our admissions about the just?
Alcibiades: Yes; if I am not mistaken, we said that those who acted justly must also act
honourably.
Socrates: And the honourable is the good?
Alcibiades: Yes.
Socrates: And the good is expedient?
Alcibiades: Yes.
Socrates: Then, Alcibiades, the just is expedient?
Alcibiades: I should infer so.
Socrates: And all this I prove out of your own mouth, for I ask and you answer?
Alcibiades: I must acknowledge it to be true.
Socrates: And having acknowledged that the just is the same as the expedient, are you
not (let me ask) prepared to ridicule any one who, pretending to understand the
principles of justice and injustice, gets up to advise the noble Athenians or the ignoble
Peparethians, that the just may be the evil?
Alcibiades: I solemnly declare, Socrates, that I do not know what I am saying. Verily, I am
in a strange state, for when you put questions to me I am of different minds in
successive instants.
Socrates: And are you not aware of the nature of this perplexity, my friend?
Alcibiades: Indeed I am not.
Socrates: Do you suppose that if some one were to ask you whether you have two eyes
or three, or two hands or four, or anything of that sort, you would then be of different
minds in successive instants?
Alcibiades: I begin to distrust myself, but still I do not suppose that I should.
Socrates: You would feel no doubt; and for this reason—because you would know?
Alcibiades: I suppose so.
Socrates: And the reason why you involuntarily contradict yourself is clearly that you are
ignorant?
Alcibiades: Very likely.
Socrates: And if you are perplexed in answering about just and unjust, honourable and
dishonourable, good and evil, expedient and inexpedient, the reason is that you are
ignorant of them, and therefore in perplexity. Is not that clear?
Alcibiades: I agree.
Socrates: But is this always the case, and is a man necessarily perplexed about that of
which he has no knowledge?
Alcibiades: Certainly he is.
Socrates: And do you know how to ascend into heaven?
Alcibiades: Certainly not.
Socrates: And in this case, too, is your judgment perplexed?
Alcibiades: No.
Socrates: Do you see the reason why, or shall I tell you?
Alcibiades: Tell me.
Socrates: The reason is, that you not only do not know, my friend, but you do not think
that you know.
Alcibiades: There again; what do you mean?
Socrates: Ask yourself; are you in any perplexity about things of which you are ignorant?
You know, for example, that you know nothing about the preparation of food.
Alcibiades: Very true.
Socrates: And do you think and perplex yourself about the preparation of food: or do
you leave that to some one who understands the art?
Alcibiades: The latter.
Socrates: Or if you were on a voyage, would you bewilder yourself by considering
whether the rudder is to be drawn inwards or outwards, or do you leave that to the
pilot, and do nothing?
Alcibiades: It would be the concern of the pilot.
Socrates: Then you are not perplexed about what you do not know, if you know that you
do not know it?
Alcibiades: I imagine not.
Socrates: Do you not see, then, that mistakes in life and practice are likewise to be
attributed to the ignorance which has conceit of knowledge?
Alcibiades: Once more, what do you mean?
Socrates: I suppose that we begin to act when we think that we know what we are
doing?
Alcibiades: Yes.
Socrates: But when people think that they do not know, they entrust their business to
others?
Alcibiades: Yes.
Socrates: And so there is a class of ignorant persons who do not make mistakes in life,
because they trust others about things of which they are ignorant?
Alcibiades: True.
Socrates: Who, then, are the persons who make mistakes? They cannot, of course, be
those who know?
Alcibiades: Certainly not.
Socrates: But if neither those who know, nor those who know that they do not know,
make mistakes, there remain those only who do not know and think that they know.
Alcibiades: Yes, only those.
Socrates: Then this is ignorance of the disgraceful sort which is mischievous?
Alcibiades: Yes.
Socrates: And most mischievous and most disgraceful when having to do with the
greatest matters?
Alcibiades: By far.
Socrates: And can there be any matters greater than the just, the honourable, the good,
and the expedient?
Alcibiades: There cannot be.
Socrates: And these, as you were saying, are what perplex you?
Alcibiades: Yes.
Socrates: But if you are perplexed, then, as the previous argument has shown, you are
not only ignorant of the greatest matters, but being ignorant you fancy that you know
them?
Alcibiades: I fear that you are right.
Socrates: And now see what has happened to you, Alcibiades! I hardly like to speak of
your evil case, but as we are alone I will: My good friend, you are wedded to ignorance
of the most disgraceful kind, and of this you are convicted, not by me, but out of your
own mouth and by your own argument; wherefore also you rush into politics before you
are educated. Neither is your case to be deemed singular. For I might say the same of
almost all our statesmen, with the exception, perhaps of your guardian, Pericles.
Alcibiades: Yes, Socrates; and Pericles is said not to have got his wisdom by the light of
nature, but to have associated with several of the philosophers; with Pythocleides, for
example, and with Anaxagoras, and now in advanced life with Damon, in the hope of
gaining wisdom.
Socrates: Very good; but did you ever know a man wise in anything who was unable to
impart his particular wisdom? For example, he who taught you letters was not only wise,
but he made you and any others whom he liked wise.
Alcibiades: Yes.
Socrates: And you, whom he taught, can do the same?
Alcibiades: True.
Socrates: And in like manner the harper and gymnastic-master?
Alcibiades: Certainly.
Socrates: When a person is enabled to impart knowledge to another, he thereby gives
an excellent proof of his own understanding of any matter.
Alcibiades: I agree.
Socrates: Well, and did Pericles make any one wise; did he begin by making his sons
wise?
Alcibiades: But, Socrates, if the two sons of Pericles were simpletons, what has that to do
with the matter?
Socrates: Well, but did he make your brother, Cleinias, wise?
Alcibiades: Cleinias is a madman; there is no use in talking of him.
Socrates: But if Cleinias is a madman and the two sons of Pericles were simpletons, what
reason can be given why he neglects you, and lets you be as you are?
Alcibiades: I believe that I am to blame for not listening to him.
Socrates: But did you ever hear of any other Athenian or foreigner, bond or free, who
was deemed to have grown wiser in the society of Pericles,—as I might cite Pythodorus,
the son of Isolochus, and Callias, the son of Calliades, who have grown wiser in the
society of Zeno, for which privilege they have each of them paid him the sum of a
hundred minae (about 406 pounds sterling) to the increase of their wisdom and fame.
Alcibiades: I certainly never did hear of any one.
Socrates: Well, and in reference to your own case, do you mean to remain as you are, or
will you take some pains about yourself?
Alcibiades: With your aid, Socrates, I will. And indeed, when I hear you speak, the truth
of what you are saying strikes home to me, and I agree with you, for our statesmen, all
but a few, do appear to be quite uneducated.
Socrates: What is the inference?
Alcibiades: Why, that if they were educated they would be trained athletes, and he who
means to rival them ought to have knowledge and experience when he attacks them;
but now, as they have become politicians without any special training, why should I have
the trouble of learning and practising? For I know well that by the light of nature I shall
get the better of them.
Socrates: My dear friend, what a sentiment! And how unworthy of your noble form and
your high estate!
Alcibiades: What do you mean, Socrates; why do you say so?
Socrates: I am grieved when I think of our mutual love.
Alcibiades: At what?
Socrates: At your fancying that the contest on which you are entering is with people
here.
Alcibiades: Why, what others are there?
Socrates: Is that a question which a magnanimous soul should ask?
Alcibiades: Do you mean to say that the contest is not with these?
Socrates: And suppose that you were going to steer a ship into action, would you only
aim at being the best pilot on board? Would you not, while acknowledging that you
must possess this degree of excellence, rather look to your antagonists, and not, as you
are now doing, to your fellow combatants? You ought to be so far above these latter,
that they will not even dare to be your rivals; and, being regarded by you as inferiors,
will do battle for you against the enemy; this is the kind of superiority which you must
establish over them, if you mean to accomplish any noble action really worthy of
yourself and of the state.
Alcibiades: That would certainly be my aim.
Socrates: Verily, then, you have good reason to be satisfied, if you are better than the
soldiers; and you need not, when you are their superior and have your thoughts and
actions fixed upon them, look away to the generals of the enemy.
Alcibiades: Of whom are you speaking, Socrates?
Socrates: Why, you surely know that our city goes to war now and then with the
Lacedaemonians and with the great king?
Alcibiades: True enough.
Socrates: And if you meant to be the ruler of this city, would you not be right in
considering that the Lacedaemonian and Persian king were your true rivals?
Alcibiades: I believe that you are right.
Socrates: Oh no, my friend, I am quite wrong, and I think that you ought rather to turn
your attention to Midias the quail-breeder and others like him, who manage our politics;
in whom, as the women would remark, you may still see the slaves’ cut of hair, cropping
out in their minds as well as on their pates; and they come with their barbarous lingo to
flatter us and not to rule us. To these, I say, you should look, and then you need not
trouble yourself about your own fitness to contend in such a noble arena: there is no
reason why you should either learn what has to be learned, or practise what has to be
practised, and only when thoroughly prepared enter on a political career.
Alcibiades: There, I think, Socrates, that you are right; I do not suppose, however, that
the Spartan generals or the great king are really different from anybody else.
Socrates: But, my dear friend, do consider what you are saying.
Alcibiades: What am I to consider?
Socrates: In the first place, will you be more likely to take care of yourself, if you are in a
wholesome fear and dread of them, or if you are not?
Alcibiades: Clearly, if I have such a fear of them.
Socrates: And do you think that you will sustain any injury if you take care of yourself?
Alcibiades: No, I shall be greatly benefited.
Socrates: And this is one very important respect in which that notion of yours is bad.
Alcibiades: True.
Socrates: In the next place, consider that what you say is probably false.
Alcibiades: How so?
Socrates: Let me ask you whether better natures are likely to be found in noble races or
not in noble races?
Alcibiades: Clearly in noble races.
Socrates: Are not those who are well born and well bred most likely to be perfect in
virtue?
Alcibiades: Certainly.
Socrates: Then let us compare our antecedents with those of the Lacedaemonian and
Persian kings; are they inferior to us in descent? Have we not heard that the former are
sprung from Heracles, and the latter from Achaemenes, and that the race of Heracles
and the race of Achaemenes go back to Perseus, son of Zeus?
Alcibiades: Why, so does mine go back to Eurysaces, and he to Zeus!
Socrates: And mine, noble Alcibiades, to Daedalus, and he to Hephaestus, son of Zeus.
But, for all that, we are far inferior to them. For they are descended ‘from Zeus,’ through
a line of kings—either kings of Argos and Lacedaemon, or kings of Persia, a country
which the descendants of Achaemenes have always possessed, besides being at various
times sovereigns of Asia, as they now are; whereas, we and our fathers were but private
persons. How ridiculous would you be thought if you were to make a display of your
ancestors and of Salamis the island of Eurysaces, or of Aegina, the habitation of the still
more ancient Aeacus, before Artaxerxes, son of Xerxes. You should consider how inferior
we are to them both in the derivation of our birth and in other particulars. Did you never
observe how great is the property of the Spartan kings? And their wives are under the
guardianship of the Ephori, who are public officers and watch over them, in order to
preserve as far as possible the purity of the Heracleid blood. Still greater is the
difference among the Persians; for no one entertains a suspicion that the father of a
prince of Persia can be any one but the king. Such is the awe which invests the person of
the queen, that any other guard is needless. And when the heir of the kingdom is born,
all the subjects of the king feast; and the day of his birth is for ever afterwards kept as a
holiday and time of sacrifice by all Asia; whereas, when you and I were born, Alcibiades,
as the comic poet says, the neighbours hardly knew of the important event. After the
birth of the royal child, he is tended, not by a good-for-nothing woman-nurse, but by
the best of the royal eunuchs, who are charged with the care of him, and especially with
the fashioning and right formation of his limbs, in order that he may be as shapely as
possible; which being their calling, they are held in great honour. And when the young
prince is seven years old he is put upon a horse and taken to the riding-masters, and
begins to go out hunting. And at fourteen years of age he is handed over to the royal
schoolmasters, as they are termed: these are four chosen men, reputed to be the best
among the Persians of a certain age; and one of them is the wisest, another the justest, a
third the most temperate, and a fourth the most valiant. The first instructs him in the
magianism of Zoroaster, the son of Oromasus, which is the worship of the Gods, and
teaches him also the duties of his royal office; the second, who is the justest, teaches
him always to speak the truth; the third, or most temperate, forbids him to allow any
pleasure to be lord over him, that he may be accustomed to be a freeman and king
indeed,—lord of himself first, and not a slave; the most valiant trains him to be bold and
fearless, telling him that if he fears he is to deem himself a slave; whereas Pericles gave
you, Alcibiades, for a tutor Zopyrus the Thracian, a slave of his who was past all other
work. I might enlarge on the nurture and education of your rivals, but that would be
tedious; and what I have said is a sufficient sample of what remains to be said. I have
only to remark, by way of contrast, that no one cares about your birth or nurture or
education, or, I may say, about that of any other Athenian, unless he has a lover who
looks after him. And if you cast an eye on the wealth, the luxury, the garments with their
flowing trains, the anointings with myrrh, the multitudes of attendants, and all the other
bravery of the Persians, you will be ashamed when you discern your own inferiority; or if
you look at the temperance and orderliness and ease and grace and magnanimity and
courage and endurance and love of toil and desire of glory and ambition of the
Lacedaemonians—in all these respects you will see that you are but a child in
comparison of them. Even in the matter of wealth, if you value yourself upon that, I must
reveal to you how you stand; for if you form an estimate of the wealth of the
Lacedaemonians, you will see that our possessions fall far short of theirs. For no one
here can compete with them either in the extent and fertility of their own and the
Messenian territory, or in the number of their slaves, and especially of the Helots, or of
their horses, or of the animals which feed on the Messenian pastures. But I have said
enough of this: and as to gold and silver, there is more of them in Lacedaemon than in
all the rest of Hellas, for during many generations gold has been always flowing in to
them from the whole Hellenic world, and often from the barbarian also, and never going
out, as in the fable of Aesop the fox said to the lion, ‘The prints of the feet of those
going in are distinct enough;’ but who ever saw the trace of money going out of
Lacedaemon? And therefore you may safely infer that the inhabitants are the richest of
the Hellenes in gold and silver, and that their kings are the richest of them, for they have
a larger share of these things, and they have also a tribute paid to them which is very
considerable. Yet the Spartan wealth, though great in comparison of the wealth of the
other Hellenes, is as nothing in comparison of that of the Persians and their kings. Why,
I have been informed by a credible person who went up to the king (at Susa), that he
passed through a large tract of excellent land, extending for nearly a day’s journey,
which the people of the country called the queen’s girdle, and another, which they
called her veil; and several other fair and fertile districts, which were reserved for the
adornment of the queen, and are named after her several habiliments. Now, I cannot
help thinking to myself, What if some one were to go to Amestris, the wife of Xerxes and
mother of Artaxerxes, and say to her, There is a certain Dinomache, whose whole
wardrobe is not worth fifty minae—and that will be more than the value—and she has a
son who is possessed of a three-hundred acre patch at Erchiae, and he has a mind to go
to war with your son—would she not wonder to what this Alcibiades trusts for success in
the conflict? ‘He must rely,’ she would say to herself, ‘upon his training and wisdom—
these are the things which Hellenes value.’ And if she heard that this Alcibiades who is
making the attempt is not as yet twenty years old, and is wholly uneducated, and when
his lover tells him that he ought to get education and training first, and then go and
fight the king, he refuses, and says that he is well enough as he is, would she not be
amazed, and ask ‘On what, then, does the youth rely?’ And if we replied: He relies on his
beauty, and stature, and birth, and mental endowments, she would think that we were
mad, Alcibiades, when she compared the advantages which you possess with those of
her own people. And I believe that even Lampido, the daughter of Leotychides, the wife
of Archidamus and mother of Agis, all of whom were kings, would have the same
feeling; if, in your present uneducated state, you were to turn your thoughts against her
son, she too would be equally astonished. But how disgraceful, that we should not have
as high a notion of what is required in us as our enemies’ wives and mothers have of the
qualities which are required in their assailants! O my friend, be persuaded by me, and
hear the Delphian inscription, ‘Know thyself’—not the men whom you think, but these
kings are our rivals, and we can only overcome them by pains and skill. And if you fail in
the required qualities, you will fail also in becoming renowned among Hellenes and
Barbarians, which you seem to desire more than any other man ever desired anything.
Alcibiades: I entirely believe you; but what are the sort of pains which are required,
Socrates,—can you tell me?
Socrates: Yes, I can; but we must take counsel together concerning the manner in which
both of us may be most improved. For what I am telling you of the necessity of
education applies to myself as well as to you; and there is only one point in which I have
an advantage over you.
Alcibiades: What is that?
Socrates: I have a guardian who is better and wiser than your guardian, Pericles.
Alcibiades: Who is he, Socrates?
Socrates: God, Alcibiades, who up to this day has not allowed me to converse with you;
and he inspires in me the faith that I am especially designed to bring you to honour.
Alcibiades: You are jesting, Socrates.
Socrates: Perhaps, at any rate, I am right in saying that all men greatly need pains and
care, and you and I above all men.
Alcibiades: You are not far wrong about me.
Socrates: And certainly not about myself.
Alcibiades: But what can we do?
Socrates: There must be no hesitation or cowardice, my friend.
Alcibiades: That would not become us, Socrates.
Socrates: No, indeed, and we ought to take counsel together: for do we not wish to be
as good as possible?
Alcibiades: We do.
Socrates: In what sort of virtue?
Alcibiades: Plainly, in the virtue of good men.
Socrates: Who are good in what?
Alcibiades: Those, clearly, who are good in the management of affairs.
Socrates: What sort of affairs? Equestrian affairs?
Alcibiades: Certainly not.
Socrates: You mean that about them we should have recourse to horsemen?
Alcibiades: Yes.
Socrates: Well, naval affairs?
Alcibiades: No.
Socrates: You mean that we should have recourse to sailors about them?
Alcibiades: Yes.
Socrates: Then what affairs? And who do them?
Alcibiades: The affairs which occupy Athenian gentlemen.
Socrates: And when you speak of gentlemen, do you mean the wise or the unwise?
Alcibiades: The wise.
Socrates: And a man is good in respect of that in which he is wise?
Alcibiades: Yes.
Socrates: And evil in respect of that in which he is unwise?
Alcibiades: Certainly.
Socrates: The shoemaker, for example, is wise in respect of the making of shoes?
Alcibiades: Yes.
Socrates: Then he is good in that?
Alcibiades: He is.
Socrates: But in respect of the making of garments he is unwise?
Alcibiades: Yes.
Socrates: Then in that he is bad?
Alcibiades: Yes.
Socrates: Then upon this view of the matter the same man is good and also bad?
Alcibiades: True.
Socrates: But would you say that the good are the same as the bad?
Alcibiades: Certainly not.
Socrates: Then whom do you call the good?
Alcibiades: I mean by the good those who are able to rule in the city.
Socrates: Not, surely, over horses?
Alcibiades: Certainly not.
Socrates: But over men?
Alcibiades: Yes.
Socrates: When they are sick?
Alcibiades: No.
Socrates: Or on a voyage?
Alcibiades: No.
Socrates: Or reaping the harvest?
Alcibiades: No.
Socrates: When they are doing something or nothing?
Alcibiades: When they are doing something, I should say.
Socrates: I wish that you would explain to me what this something is.
Alcibiades: When they are having dealings with one another, and using one another’s
services, as we citizens do in our daily life.
Socrates: Those of whom you speak are ruling over men who are using the services of
other men?
Alcibiades: Yes.
Socrates: Are they ruling over the signal-men who give the time to the rowers?
Alcibiades: No; they are not.
Socrates: That would be the office of the pilot?
Alcibiades: Yes.
Socrates: But, perhaps you mean that they rule over flute-players, who lead the singers
and use the services of the dancers?
Alcibiades: Certainly not.
Socrates: That would be the business of the teacher of the chorus?
Alcibiades: Yes.
Socrates: Then what is the meaning of being able to rule over men who use other men?
Alcibiades: I mean that they rule over men who have common rights of citizenship, and
dealings with one another.
Socrates: And what sort of an art is this? Suppose that I ask you again, as I did just now,
What art makes men know how to rule over their fellow-sailors,—how would you
answer?
Alcibiades: The art of the pilot.
Socrates: And, if I may recur to another old instance, what art enables them to rule over
their fellow-singers?
Alcibiades: The art of the teacher of the chorus, which you were just now mentioning.
Socrates: And what do you call the art of fellow-citizens?
Alcibiades: I should say, good counsel, Socrates.
Socrates: And is the art of the pilot evil counsel?
Alcibiades: No.
Socrates: But good counsel?
Alcibiades: Yes, that is what I should say,—good counsel, of which the aim is the
preservation of the voyagers.
Socrates: True. And what is the aim of that other good counsel of which you speak?
Alcibiades: The aim is the better order and preservation of the city.
Socrates: And what is that of which the absence or presence improves and preserves the
order of the city? Suppose you were to ask me, what is that of which the presence or
absence improves or preserves the order of the body? I should reply, the presence of
health and the absence of disease. You would say the same?
Alcibiades: Yes.
Socrates: And if you were to ask me the same question about the eyes, I should reply in
the same way, ‘the presence of sight and the absence of blindness;’ or about the ears, I
should reply, that they were improved and were in better case, when deafness was
absent, and hearing was present in them.
Alcibiades: True.
Socrates: And what would you say of a state? What is that by the presence or absence of
which the state is improved and better managed and ordered?
Alcibiades: I should say, Socrates:—the presence of friendship and the absence of hatred
and division.
Socrates: And do you mean by friendship agreement or disagreement?
Alcibiades: Agreement.
Socrates: What art makes cities agree about numbers?
Alcibiades: Arithmetic.
Socrates: And private individuals?
Alcibiades: The same.
Socrates: And what art makes each individual agree with himself?
Alcibiades: The same.
Socrates: And what art makes each of us agree with himself about the comparative
length of the span and of the cubit? Does not the art of measure?
Alcibiades: Yes.
Socrates: Individuals are agreed with one another about this; and states, equally?
Alcibiades: Yes.
Socrates: And the same holds of the balance?
Alcibiades: True.
Socrates: But what is the other agreement of which you speak, and about what? what art
can give that agreement? And does that which gives it to the state give it also to the
individual, so as to make him consistent with himself and with another?
Alcibiades: I should suppose so.
Socrates: But what is the nature of the agreement?—answer, and faint not.
Alcibiades: I mean to say that there should be such friendship and agreement as exists
between an affectionate father and mother and their son, or between brothers, or
between husband and wife.
Socrates: But can a man, Alcibiades, agree with a woman about the spinning of wool,
which she understands and he does not?
Alcibiades: No, truly.
Socrates: Nor has he any need, for spinning is a female accomplishment.
Alcibiades: Yes.
Socrates: And would a woman agree with a man about the science of arms, which she
has never learned?
Alcibiades: Certainly not.
Socrates: I suppose that the use of arms would be regarded by you as a male
accomplishment?
Alcibiades: It would.
Socrates: Then, upon your view, women and men have two sorts of knowledge?
Alcibiades: Certainly.
Socrates: Then in their knowledge there is no agreement of women and men?
Alcibiades: There is not.
Socrates: Nor can there be friendship, if friendship is agreement?
Alcibiades: Plainly not.
Socrates: Then women are not loved by men when they do their own work?
Alcibiades: I suppose not.
Socrates: Nor men by women when they do their own work?
Alcibiades: No.
Socrates: Nor are states well administered, when individuals do their own work?
Alcibiades: I should rather think, Socrates, that the reverse is the truth. (Compare
Republic.)
Socrates: What! do you mean to say that states are well administered when friendship is
absent, the presence of which, as we were saying, alone secures their good order?
Alcibiades: But I should say that there is friendship among them, for this very reason,
that the two parties respectively do their own work.
Socrates: That was not what you were saying before; and what do you mean now by
affirming that friendship exists when there is no agreement? How can there be
agreement about matters which the one party knows, and of which the other is in
ignorance?
Alcibiades: Impossible.
Socrates: And when individuals are doing their own work, are they doing what is just or
unjust?
Alcibiades: What is just, certainly.
Socrates: And when individuals do what is just in the state, is there no friendship among
them?
Alcibiades: I suppose that there must be, Socrates.
Socrates: Then what do you mean by this friendship or agreement about which we must
be wise and discreet in order that we may be good men? I cannot make out where it
exists or among whom; according to you, the same persons may sometimes have it, and
sometimes not.
Alcibiades: But, indeed, Socrates, I do not know what I am saying; and I have long been,
unconsciously to myself, in a most disgraceful state.
Socrates: Nevertheless, cheer up; at fifty, if you had discovered your deficiency, you
would have been too old, and the time for taking care of yourself would have passed
away, but yours is just the age at which the discovery should be made.
Alcibiades: And what should he do, Socrates, who would make the discovery?
Socrates: Answer questions, Alcibiades; and that is a process which, by the grace of God,
if I may put any faith in my oracle, will be very improving to both of us.
Alcibiades: If I can be improved by answering, I will answer.
Socrates: And first of all, that we may not peradventure be deceived by appearances,
fancying, perhaps, that we are taking care of ourselves when we are not, what is the
meaning of a man taking care of himself? and when does he take care? Does he take
care of himself when he takes care of what belongs to him?
Alcibiades: I should think so.
Socrates: When does a man take care of his feet? Does he not take care of them when
he takes care of that which belongs to his feet?
Alcibiades: I do not understand.
Socrates: Let me take the hand as an illustration; does not a ring belong to the finger,
and to the finger only?
Alcibiades: Yes.
Socrates: And the shoe in like manner to the foot?
Alcibiades: Yes.
Socrates: And when we take care of our shoes, do we not take care of our feet?
Alcibiades: I do not comprehend, Socrates.
Socrates: But you would admit, Alcibiades, that to take proper care of a thing is a correct
expression?
Alcibiades: Yes.
Socrates: And taking proper care means improving?
Alcibiades: Yes.
Socrates: And what is the art which improves our shoes?
Alcibiades: Shoemaking.
Socrates: Then by shoemaking we take care of our shoes?
Alcibiades: Yes.
Socrates: And do we by shoemaking take care of our feet, or by some other art which
improves the feet?
Alcibiades: By some other art.
Socrates: And the same art improves the feet which improves the rest of the body?
Alcibiades: Very true.
Socrates: Which is gymnastic?
Alcibiades: Certainly.
Socrates: Then by gymnastic we take care of our feet, and by shoemaking of that which
belongs to our feet?
Alcibiades: Very true.
Socrates: And by gymnastic we take care of our hands, and by the art of graving rings of
that which belongs to our hands?
Alcibiades: Yes.
Socrates: And by gymnastic we take care of the body, and by the art of weaving and the
other arts we take care of the things of the body?
Alcibiades: Clearly.
Socrates: Then the art which takes care of each thing is different from that which takes
care of the belongings of each thing?
Alcibiades: True.
Socrates: Then in taking care of what belongs to you, you do not take care of yourself?
Alcibiades: Certainly not.
Socrates: For the art which takes care of our belongings appears not to be the same as
that which takes care of ourselves?
Alcibiades: Clearly not.
Socrates: And now let me ask you what is the art with which we take care of ourselves?
Alcibiades: I cannot say.
Socrates: At any rate, thus much has been admitted, that the art is not one which makes
any of our possessions, but which makes ourselves better?
Alcibiades: True.
Socrates: But should we ever have known what art makes a shoe better, if we did not
know a shoe?
Alcibiades: Impossible.
Socrates: Nor should we know what art makes a ring better, if we did not know a ring?
Alcibiades: That is true.
Socrates: And can we ever know what art makes a man better, if we do not know what
we are ourselves?
Alcibiades: Impossible.
Socrates: And is self-knowledge such an easy thing, and was he to be lightly esteemed
who inscribed the text on the temple at Delphi? Or is self-knowledge a difficult thing,
which few are able to attain?
Alcibiades: At times I fancy, Socrates, that anybody can know himself; at other times the
task appears to be very difficult.
Socrates: But whether easy or difficult, Alcibiades, still there is no other way; knowing
what we are, we shall know how to take care of ourselves, and if we are ignorant we
shall not know.
Alcibiades: That is true.
Socrates: Well, then, let us see in what way the self-existent can be discovered by us;
that will give us a chance of discovering our own existence, which otherwise we can
never know.
Alcibiades: You say truly.
Socrates: Come, now, I beseech you, tell me with whom you are conversing? —with
whom but with me?
Alcibiades: Yes.
Socrates: As I am, with you?
Alcibiades: Yes.
Socrates: That is to say, I, Socrates, am talking?
Alcibiades: Yes.
Socrates: And Alcibiades is my hearer?
Alcibiades: Yes.
Socrates: And I in talking use words?
Alcibiades: Certainly.
Socrates: And talking and using words have, I suppose, the same meaning?
Alcibiades: To be sure.
Socrates: And the user is not the same as the thing which he uses?
Alcibiades: What do you mean?
Socrates: I will explain; the shoemaker, for example, uses a square tool, and a circular
tool, and other tools for cutting?
Alcibiades: Yes.
Socrates: But the tool is not the same as the cutter and user of the tool?
Alcibiades: Of course not.
Socrates: And in the same way the instrument of the harper is to be distinguished from
the harper himself?
Alcibiades: It is.
Socrates: Now the question which I asked was whether you conceive the user to be
always different from that which he uses?
Alcibiades: I do.
Socrates: Then what shall we say of the shoemaker? Does he cut with his tools only or
with his hands?
Alcibiades: With his hands as well.
Socrates: He uses his hands too?
Alcibiades: Yes.
Socrates: And does he use his eyes in cutting leather?
Alcibiades: He does.
Socrates: And we admit that the user is not the same with the things which he uses?
Alcibiades: Yes.
Socrates: Then the shoemaker and the harper are to be distinguished from the hands
and feet which they use?
Alcibiades: Clearly.
Socrates: And does not a man use the whole body?
Alcibiades: Certainly.
Socrates: And that which uses is different from that which is used?
Alcibiades: True.
Socrates: Then a man is not the same as his own body?
Alcibiades: That is the inference.
Socrates: What is he, then?
Alcibiades: I cannot say.
Socrates: Nay, you can say that he is the user of the body.
Alcibiades: Yes.
Socrates: And the user of the body is the soul?
Alcibiades: Yes, the soul.
Socrates: And the soul rules?
Alcibiades: Yes.
Socrates: Let me make an assertion which will, I think, be universally admitted.
Alcibiades: What is it?
Socrates: That man is one of three things.
Alcibiades: What are they?
Socrates: Soul, body, or both together forming a whole.
Alcibiades: Certainly.
Socrates: But did we not say that the actual ruling principle of the body is man?
Alcibiades: Yes, we did.
Socrates: And does the body rule over itself?
Alcibiades: Certainly not.
Socrates: It is subject, as we were saying?
Alcibiades: Yes.
Socrates: Then that is not the principle which we are seeking?
Alcibiades: It would seem not.
Socrates: But may we say that the union of the two rules over the body, and
consequently that this is man?
Alcibiades: Very likely.
Socrates: The most unlikely of all things; for if one of the members is subject, the two
united cannot possibly rule.
Alcibiades: True.
Socrates: But since neither the body, nor the union of the two, is man, either man has no
real existence, or the soul is man?
Alcibiades: Just so.
Socrates: Is anything more required to prove that the soul is man?
Alcibiades: Certainly not; the proof is, I think, quite sufficient.
Socrates: And if the proof, although not perfect, be sufficient, we shall be satisfied;—
more precise proof will be supplied when we have discovered that which we were led to
omit, from a fear that the enquiry would be too much protracted.
Alcibiades: What was that?
Socrates: What I meant, when I said that absolute existence must be first considered; but
now, instead of absolute existence, we have been considering the nature of individual
existence, and this may, perhaps, be sufficient; for surely there is nothing which may be
called more properly ourselves than the soul?
Alcibiades: There is nothing.
Socrates: Then we may truly conceive that you and I are conversing with one another,
soul to soul?
Alcibiades: Very true.
Socrates: And that is just what I was saying before—that I, Socrates, am not arguing or
talking with the face of Alcibiades, but with the real Alcibiades; or in other words, with
his soul.
Alcibiades: True.
Socrates: Then he who bids a man know himself, would have him know his soul?
Alcibiades: That appears to be true.
Socrates: He whose knowledge only extends to the body, knows the things of a man,
and not the man himself?
Alcibiades: That is true.
Socrates: Then neither the physician regarded as a physician, nor the trainer regarded as
a trainer, knows himself?
Alcibiades: He does not.
Socrates: The husbandmen and the other craftsmen are very far from knowing
themselves, for they would seem not even to know their own belongings? When
regarded in relation to the arts which they practise they are even further removed from
self-knowledge, for they only know the belongings of the body, which minister to the
body.
Alcibiades: That is true.
Socrates: Then if temperance is the knowledge of self, in respect of his art none of them
is temperate?
Alcibiades: I agree.
Socrates: And this is the reason why their arts are accounted vulgar, and are not such as
a good man would practise?
Alcibiades: Quite true.
Socrates: Again, he who cherishes his body cherishes not himself, but what belongs to
him?
Alcibiades: That is true.
Socrates: But he who cherishes his money, cherishes neither himself nor his belongings,
but is in a stage yet further removed from himself?
Alcibiades: I agree.
Socrates: Then the money-maker has really ceased to be occupied with his own
concerns?
Alcibiades: True.
Socrates: And if any one has fallen in love with the person of Alcibiades, he loves not
Alcibiades, but the belongings of Alcibiades?
Alcibiades: True.
Socrates: But he who loves your soul is the true lover?
Alcibiades: That is the necessary inference.
Socrates: The lover of the body goes away when the flower of youth fades?
Alcibiades: True.
Socrates: But he who loves the soul goes not away, as long as the soul follows after
virtue?
Alcibiades: Yes.
Socrates: And I am the lover who goes not away, but remains with you, when you are no
longer young and the rest are gone?
Alcibiades: Yes, Socrates; and therein you do well, and I hope that you will remain.
Socrates: Then you must try to look your best.
Alcibiades: I will.
Socrates: The fact is, that there is only one lover of Alcibiades the son of Cleinias; there
neither is nor ever has been seemingly any other; and he is his darling,—Socrates, the
son of Sophroniscus and Phaenarete.
Alcibiades: True.
Socrates: And did you not say, that if I had not spoken first, you were on the point of
coming to me, and enquiring why I only remained?
Alcibiades: That is true.
Socrates: The reason was that I loved you for your own sake, whereas other men love
what belongs to you; and your beauty, which is not you, is fading away, just as your true
self is beginning to bloom. And I will never desert you, if you are not spoiled and
deformed by the Athenian people; for the danger which I most fear is that you will
become a lover of the people and will be spoiled by them. Many a noble Athenian has
been ruined in this way. For the demus of the great-hearted Erechteus is of a fair
countenance, but you should see him naked; wherefore observe the caution which I give
you.
Alcibiades: What caution?
Socrates: Practise yourself, sweet friend, in learning what you ought to know, before you
enter on politics; and then you will have an antidote which will keep you out of harm’s
way.
Alcibiades: Good advice, Socrates, but I wish that you would explain to me in what way I
am to take care of myself.
Socrates: Have we not made an advance? for we are at any rate tolerably well agreed as
to what we are, and there is no longer any danger, as we once feared, that we might be
taking care not of ourselves, but of something which is not ourselves.
Alcibiades: That is true.
Socrates: And the next step will be to take care of the soul, and look to that?
Alcibiades: Certainly.
Socrates: Leaving the care of our bodies and of our properties to others?
Alcibiades: Very good.
Socrates: But how can we have a perfect knowledge of the things of the soul?—For if we
know them, then I suppose we shall know ourselves. Can we really be ignorant of the
excellent meaning of the Delphian inscription, of which we were just now speaking?
Alcibiades: What have you in your thoughts, Socrates?
Socrates: I will tell you what I suspect to be the meaning and lesson of that inscription.
Let me take an illustration from sight, which I imagine to be the only one suitable to my
purpose.
Alcibiades: What do you mean?
Socrates: Consider; if some one were to say to the eye, ‘See thyself,’ as you might say to
a man, ‘Know thyself,’ what is the nature and meaning of this precept? Would not his
meaning be:—That the eye should look at that in which it would see itself?
Alcibiades: Clearly.
Socrates: And what are the objects in looking at which we see ourselves?
Alcibiades: Clearly, Socrates, in looking at mirrors and the like.
Socrates: Very true; and is there not something of the nature of a mirror in our own
eyes?
Alcibiades: Certainly.
Socrates: Did you ever observe that the face of the person looking into the eye of
another is reflected as in a mirror; and in the visual organ which is over against him, and
which is called the pupil, there is a sort of image of the person looking?
Alcibiades: That is quite true.
Socrates: Then the eye, looking at another eye, and at that in the eye which is most
perfect, and which is the instrument of vision, will there see itself?
Alcibiades: That is evident.
Socrates: But looking at anything else either in man or in the world, and not to what
resembles this, it will not see itself?
Alcibiades: Very true.
Socrates: Then if the eye is to see itself, it must look at the eye, and at that part of the
eye where sight which is the virtue of the eye resides?
Alcibiades: True.
Socrates: And if the soul, my dear Alcibiades, is ever to know herself, must she not look
at the soul; and especially at that part of the soul in which her virtue resides, and to any
other which is like this?
Alcibiades: I agree, Socrates.
Socrates: And do we know of any part of our souls more divine than that which has to
do with wisdom and knowledge?
Alcibiades: There is none.
Socrates: Then this is that part of the soul which resembles the divine; and he who looks
at this and at the whole class of things divine, will be most likely to know himself?
Alcibiades: Clearly.
Socrates: And self-knowledge we agree to be wisdom?
Alcibiades: True.
Socrates: But if we have no self-knowledge and no wisdom, can we ever know our own
good and evil?
Alcibiades: How can we, Socrates?
Socrates: You mean, that if you did not know Alcibiades, there would be no possibility of
your knowing that what belonged to Alcibiades was really his?
Alcibiades: It would be quite impossible.
Socrates: Nor should we know that we were the persons to whom anything belonged, if
we did not know ourselves?
Alcibiades: How could we?
Socrates: And if we did not know our own belongings, neither should we know the
belongings of our belongings?
Alcibiades: Clearly not.
Socrates: Then we were not altogether right in acknowledging just now that a man may
know what belongs to him and yet not know himself; nay, rather he cannot even know
the belongings of his belongings; for the discernment of the things of self, and of the
things which belong to the things of self, appear all to be the business of the same man,
and of the same art.
Alcibiades: So much may be supposed.
Socrates: And he who knows not the things which belong to himself, will in like manner
be ignorant of the things which belong to others?
Alcibiades: Very true.
Socrates: And if he knows not the affairs of others, he will not know the affairs of states?
Alcibiades: Certainly not.
Socrates: Then such a man can never be a statesman?
Alcibiades: He cannot.
Socrates: Nor an economist?
Alcibiades: He cannot.
Socrates: He will not know what he is doing?
Alcibiades: He will not.
Socrates: And will not he who is ignorant fall into error?
Alcibiades: Assuredly.
Socrates: And if he falls into error will he not fail both in his public and private capacity?
Alcibiades: Yes, indeed.
Socrates: And failing, will he not be miserable?
Alcibiades: Very.
Socrates: And what will become of those for whom he is acting?
Alcibiades: They will be miserable also.
Socrates: Then he who is not wise and good cannot be happy?
Alcibiades: He cannot.
Socrates: The bad, then, are miserable?
Alcibiades: Yes, very.
Socrates: And if so, not he who has riches, but he who has wisdom, is delivered from his
misery?
Alcibiades: Clearly.
Socrates: Cities, then, if they are to be happy, do not want walls, or triremes, or docks, or
numbers, or size, Alcibiades, without virtue? (Compare Arist. Pol.)
Alcibiades: Indeed they do not.
Socrates: And you must give the citizens virtue, if you mean to administer their affairs
rightly or nobly?
Alcibiades: Certainly.
Socrates: But can a man give that which he has not?
Alcibiades: Impossible.
Socrates: Then you or any one who means to govern and superintend, not only himself
and the things of himself, but the state and the things of the state, must in the first
place acquire virtue.
Alcibiades: That is true.
Socrates: You have not therefore to obtain power or authority, in order to enable you to
do what you wish for yourself and the state, but justice and wisdom.
Alcibiades: Clearly.
Socrates: You and the state, if you act wisely and justly, will act according to the will of
God?
Alcibiades: Certainly.
Socrates: As I was saying before, you will look only at what is bright and divine, and act
with a view to them?
Alcibiades: Yes.
Socrates: In that mirror you will see and know yourselves and your own good?
Alcibiades: Yes.
Socrates: And so you will act rightly and well?
Alcibiades: Yes.
Socrates: In which case, I will be security for your happiness.
Alcibiades: I accept the security.
Socrates: But if you act unrighteously, your eye will turn to the dark and godless, and
being in darkness and ignorance of yourselves, you will probably do deeds of darkness.
Alcibiades: Very possibly.
Socrates: For if a man, my dear Alcibiades, has the power to do what he likes, but has no
understanding, what is likely to be the result, either to him as an individual or to the
state—for example, if he be sick and is able to do what he likes, not having the mind of
a physician—having moreover tyrannical power, and no one daring to reprove him,
what will happen to him? Will he not be likely to have his constitution ruined?
Alcibiades: That is true.
Socrates: Or again, in a ship, if a man having the power to do what he likes, has no
intelligence or skill in navigation, do you see what will happen to him and to his fellowsailors?

Alcibiades: Yes; I see that they will all perish.
Socrates: And in like manner, in a state, and where there is any power and authority
which is wanting in virtue, will not misfortune, in like manner, ensue?
Alcibiades: Certainly.
Socrates: Not tyrannical power, then, my good Alcibiades, should be the aim either of
individuals or states, if they would be happy, but virtue.
Alcibiades: That is true.
Socrates: And before they have virtue, to be commanded by a superior is better for men
as well as for children? (Compare Arist. Pol.)
Alcibiades: That is evident.
Socrates: And that which is better is also nobler?
Alcibiades: True.
Socrates: And what is nobler is more becoming?
Alcibiades: Certainly.
Socrates: Then to the bad man slavery is more becoming, because better?
Alcibiades: True.
Socrates: Then vice is only suited to a slave?
Alcibiades: Yes.
Socrates: And virtue to a freeman?
Alcibiades: Yes.
Socrates: And, O my friend, is not the condition of a slave to be avoided?
Alcibiades: Certainly, Socrates.
Socrates: And are you now conscious of your own state? And do you know whether you
are a freeman or not?
Alcibiades: I think that I am very conscious indeed of my own state.
Socrates: And do you know how to escape out of a state which I do not even like to
name to my beauty?
Alcibiades: Yes, I do.
Socrates: How?
Alcibiades: By your help, Socrates.
Socrates: That is not well said, Alcibiades.
Alcibiades: What ought I to have said?
Socrates: By the help of God.
Alcibiades: I agree; and I further say, that our relations are likely to be reversed. From
this day forward, I must and will follow you as you have followed me; I will be the
disciple, and you shall be my master.
Socrates: O that is rare! My love breeds another love: and so like the stork I shall be
cherished by the bird whom I have hatched.
Alcibiades: Strange, but true; and henceforward I shall begin to think about justice.
Socrates: And I hope that you will persist; although I have fears, not because I doubt
you; but I see the power of the state, which may be too much for both of us.

V
THE SECOND
ALCIBIADES

The Second Alcibiades
Preface.
The two dialogues [the Eryxias and The Second Alcibiades] are not mentioned by
Aristotle, or by any early authority, and have no claim to be ascribed to Plato. They are
examples of Platonic dialogues to be assigned probably to the second or third
generation after Plato, when his writings were well known at Athens and Alexandria.
They exhibit considerable originality, and are remarkable for containing several thoughts
of the sort which we suppose to be modern rather than ancient, and which therefore
have a peculiar interest for us. The Second Alcibiades shows that the difficulties about
prayer which have perplexed Christian theologians were not unknown among the
followers of Plato. The Eryxias was doubted by the ancients themselves: yet it may claim
the distinction of being, among all Greek or Roman writings, the one which anticipates
in the most striking manner the modern science of political economy and gives an
abstract form to some of its principal doctrines.
For the translation of these two dialogues I am indebted to my friend and secretary, Mr.
Knight.
That the Dialogue which goes by the name of the Second Alcibiades is a genuine writing
of Plato will not be maintained by any modern critic, and was hardly believed by the
ancients themselves. The dialectic is poor and weak. There is no power over language, or
beauty of style; and there is a certain abruptness and agroikia in the conversation, which
is very un-Platonic. The best passage is probably that about the poets:—the remark that
the poet, who is of a reserved disposition, is uncommonly difficult to understand, and
the ridiculous interpretation of Homer, are entirely in the spirit of Plato (compare Protag;
Ion; Apol.). The characters are ill-drawn. Socrates assumes the ‘superior person’ and
preaches too much, while Alcibiades is stupid and heavy-in-hand. There are traces of
Stoic influence in the general tone and phraseology of the Dialogue (compare opos
melesei tis...kaka: oti pas aphron mainetai): and the writer seems to have been
acquainted with the ‘Laws’ of Plato (compare Laws). An incident from the Symposium is
rather clumsily introduced, and two somewhat hackneyed quotations (Symp., Gorg.)
recur. The reference to the death of Archelaus as having occurred ‘quite lately’ is only a
fiction, probably suggested by the Gorgias, where the story of Archelaus is told, and a
similar phrase occurs;—ta gar echthes kai proen gegonota tauta, k.t.l. There are several
passages which are either corrupt or extremely ill-expressed. But there is a modern
interest in the subject of the dialogue; and it is a good example of a short spurious work,
which may be attributed to the second or third century before Christ.
The Second Alcibiades
PERSONS OF THE DIALOGUE: Socrates and Alcibiades.
SOCRATES: Are you going, Alcibiades, to offer prayer to Zeus?
ALCIBIADES: Yes, Socrates, I am.
SOCRATES: you seem to be troubled and to cast your eyes on the ground, as though
you were thinking about something.
ALCIBIADES: Of what do you suppose that I am thinking?
SOCRATES: Of the greatest of all things, as I believe. Tell me, do you not suppose that
the Gods sometimes partly grant and partly reject the requests which we make in public
and private, and favour some persons and not others?
ALCIBIADES: Certainly.
SOCRATES: Do you not imagine, then, that a man ought to be very careful, lest
perchance without knowing it he implore great evils for himself, deeming that he is
asking for good, especially if the Gods are in the mood to grant whatever he may
request? There is the story of Oedipus, for instance, who prayed that his children might
divide their inheritance between them by the sword: he did not, as he might have done,
beg that his present evils might be averted, but called down new ones. And was not his
prayer accomplished, and did not many and terrible evils thence arise, upon which I
need not dilate?
ALCIBIADES: Yes, Socrates, but you are speaking of a madman: surely you do not think
that any one in his senses would venture to make such a prayer?
SOCRATES: Madness, then, you consider to be the opposite of discretion?
ALCIBIADES: Of course.
SOCRATES: And some men seem to you to be discreet, and others the contrary?
ALCIBIADES: They do.
SOCRATES: Well, then, let us discuss who these are. We acknowledge that some are
discreet, some foolish, and that some are mad?
ALCIBIADES: Yes.
SOCRATES: And again, there are some who are in health?
ALCIBIADES: There are.
SOCRATES: While others are ailing?
ALCIBIADES: Yes.
SOCRATES: And they are not the same?
ALCIBIADES: Certainly not.
SOCRATES: Nor are there any who are in neither state?
ALCIBIADES: No.
SOCRATES: A man must either be sick or be well?
ALCIBIADES: That is my opinion.
SOCRATES: Very good: and do you think the same about discretion and want of
discretion?
ALCIBIADES: How do you mean?
SOCRATES: Do you believe that a man must be either in or out of his senses; or is there
some third or intermediate condition, in which he is neither one nor the other?
ALCIBIADES: Decidedly not.
SOCRATES: He must be either sane or insane?
ALCIBIADES: So I suppose.
SOCRATES: Did you not acknowledge that madness was the opposite of discretion?
ALCIBIADES: Yes.
SOCRATES: And that there is no third or middle term between discretion and
indiscretion?
ALCIBIADES: True.
SOCRATES: And there cannot be two opposites to one thing?
ALCIBIADES: There cannot.
SOCRATES: Then madness and want of sense are the same?
ALCIBIADES: That appears to be the case.
SOCRATES: We shall be in the right, therefore, Alcibiades, if we say that all who are
senseless are mad. For example, if among persons of your own age or older than
yourself there are some who are senseless,—as there certainly are,—they are mad. For
tell me, by heaven, do you not think that in the city the wise are few, while the foolish,
whom you call mad, are many?
ALCIBIADES: I do.
SOCRATES: But how could we live in safety with so many crazy people? Should we not
long since have paid the penalty at their hands, and have been struck and beaten and
endured every other form of ill-usage which madmen are wont to inflict? Consider, my
dear friend: may it not be quite otherwise?
ALCIBIADES: Why, Socrates, how is that possible? I must have been mistaken.
SOCRATES: So it seems to me. But perhaps we may consider the matter thus:—
ALCIBIADES: How?
SOCRATES: I will tell you. We think that some are sick; do we not?
ALCIBIADES: Yes.
SOCRATES: And must every sick person either have the gout, or be in a fever, or suffer
from ophthalmia? Or do you believe that a man may labour under some other disease,
even although he has none of these complaints? Surely, they are not the only maladies
which exist?
ALCIBIADES: Certainly not.
SOCRATES: And is every kind of ophthalmia a disease?
ALCIBIADES: Yes.
SOCRATES: And every disease ophthalmia?
ALCIBIADES: Surely not. But I scarcely understand what I mean myself.
SOCRATES: Perhaps, if you give me your best attention, ‘two of us’ looking together, we
may find what we seek.
ALCIBIADES: I am attending, Socrates, to the best of my power.
SOCRATES: We are agreed, then, that every form of ophthalmia is a disease, but not
every disease ophthalmia?
ALCIBIADES: We are.
SOCRATES: And so far we seem to be right. For every one who suffers from a fever is
sick; but the sick, I conceive, do not all have fever or gout or ophthalmia, although each
of these is a disease, which, according to those whom we call physicians, may require a
different treatment. They are not all alike, nor do they produce the same result, but each
has its own effect, and yet they are all diseases. May we not take an illustration from the
artizans?
ALCIBIADES: Certainly.
SOCRATES: There are cobblers and carpenters and sculptors and others of all sorts and
kinds, whom we need not stop to enumerate. All have their distinct employments and all
are workmen, although they are not all of them cobblers or carpenters or sculptors.
ALCIBIADES: No, indeed.
SOCRATES: And in like manner men differ in regard to want of sense. Those who are
most out of their wits we call ‘madmen,’ while we term those who are less far gone
‘stupid’ or ‘idiotic,’ or, if we prefer gentler language, describe them as ‘romantic’ or
‘simple-minded,’ or, again, as ‘innocent’ or ‘inexperienced’ or ‘foolish.’ You may even
find other names, if you seek for them; but by all of them lack of sense is intended. They
only differ as one art appeared to us to differ from another or one disease from another.
Or what is your opinion?
ALCIBIADES: I agree with you.
SOCRATES: Then let us return to the point at which we digressed. We said at first that
we should have to consider who were the wise and who the foolish. For we
acknowledged that there are these two classes? Did we not?
ALCIBIADES: To be sure.
SOCRATES: And you regard those as sensible who know what ought to be done or said?
ALCIBIADES: Yes.
SOCRATES: The senseless are those who do not know this?
ALCIBIADES: True.
SOCRATES: The latter will say or do what they ought not without their own knowledge?
ALCIBIADES: Exactly.
SOCRATES: Oedipus, as I was saying, Alcibiades, was a person of this sort. And even
now-a-days you will find many who (have offered inauspicious prayers), although, unlike
him, they were not in anger nor thought that they were asking evil. He neither sought,
nor supposed that he sought for good, but others have had quite the contrary notion. I
believe that if the God whom you are about to consult should appear to you, and, in
anticipation of your request, enquired whether you would be contented to become
tyrant of Athens, and if this seemed in your eyes a small and mean thing, should add to
it the dominion of all Hellas; and seeing that even then you would not be satisfied
unless you were ruler of the whole of Europe, should promise, not only that, but, if you
so desired, should proclaim to all mankind in one and the same day that Alcibiades, son
of Cleinias, was tyrant:—in such a case, I imagine, you would depart full of joy, as one
who had obtained the greatest of goods.
ALCIBIADES: And not only I, Socrates, but any one else who should meet with such luck.
SOCRATES: Yet you would not accept the dominion and lordship of all the Hellenes and
all the barbarians in exchange for your life?
ALCIBIADES: Certainly not: for then what use could I make of them?
SOCRATES: And would you accept them if you were likely to use them to a bad and
mischievous end?
ALCIBIADES: I would not.
SOCRATES: You see that it is not safe for a man either rashly to accept whatever is
offered him, or himself to request a thing, if he is likely to suffer thereby or immediately
to lose his life. And yet we could tell of many who, having long desired and diligently
laboured to obtain a tyranny, thinking that thus they would procure an advantage, have
nevertheless fallen victims to designing enemies. You must have heard of what
happened only the other day, how Archelaus of Macedonia was slain by his beloved
(compare Aristotle, Pol.), whose love for the tyranny was not less than that of Archelaus
for him. The tyrannicide expected by his crime to become tyrant and afterwards to have
a happy life; but when he had held the tyranny three or four days, he was in his turn
conspired against and slain. Or look at certain of our own citizens,—and of their actions
we have been not hearers, but eyewitnesses,—who have desired to obtain military
command: of those who have gained their object, some are even to this day exiles from
the city, while others have lost their lives. And even they who seem to have fared best,
have not only gone through many perils and terrors during their office, but after their
return home they have been beset by informers worse than they once were by their
foes, insomuch that several of them have wished that they had remained in a private
station rather than have had the glories of command. If, indeed, such perils and terrors
were of profit to the commonwealth, there would be reason in undergoing them; but
the very contrary is the case. Again, you will find persons who have prayed for offspring,
and when their prayers were heard, have fallen into the greatest pains and sufferings.
For some have begotten children who were utterly bad, and have therefore passed all
their days in misery, while the parents of good children have undergone the misfortune
of losing them, and have been so little happier than the others that they would have
preferred never to have had children rather than to have had them and lost them. And
yet, although these and the like examples are manifest and known of all, it is rare to find
any one who has refused what has been offered him, or, if he were likely to gain aught
by prayer, has refrained from making his petition. The mass of mankind would not
decline to accept a tyranny, or the command of an army, or any of the numerous things
which cause more harm than good: but rather, if they had them not, would have prayed
to obtain them. And often in a short space of time they change their tone, and wish
their old prayers unsaid. Wherefore also I suspect that men are entirely wrong when
they blame the gods as the authors of the ills which befall them (compare Republic):
‘their own presumption,’ or folly (whichever is the right word)—
‘Has brought these unmeasured woes upon them.’ (Homer. Odyss.)
He must have been a wise poet, Alcibiades, who, seeing as I believe, his friends foolishly
praying for and doing things which would not really profit them, offered up a common
prayer in behalf of them all:—
‘King Zeus, grant us good whether prayed for or unsought by us; But that which we ask
amiss, do thou avert.’ (The author of these lines, which are probably of Pythagorean
origin, is unknown. They are found also in the Anthology (Anth. Pal.).)
In my opinion, I say, the poet spoke both well and prudently; but if you have anything to
say in answer to him, speak out.
ALCIBIADES: It is difficult, Socrates, to oppose what has been well said. And I perceive
how many are the ills of which ignorance is the cause, since, as would appear, through
ignorance we not only do, but what is worse, pray for the greatest evils. No man would
imagine that he would do so; he would rather suppose that he was quite capable of
praying for what was best: to call down evils seems more like a curse than a prayer.
SOCRATES: But perhaps, my good friend, some one who is wiser than either you or I will
say that we have no right to blame ignorance thus rashly, unless we can add what
ignorance we mean and of what, and also to whom and how it is respectively a good or
an evil?
ALCIBIADES: How do you mean? Can ignorance possibly be better than knowledge for
any person in any conceivable case?
SOCRATES: So I believe:—you do not think so?
ALCIBIADES: Certainly not.
SOCRATES: And yet surely I may not suppose that you would ever wish to act towards
your mother as they say that Orestes and Alcmeon and others have done towards their
parent.
ALCIBIADES: Good words, Socrates, prithee.
SOCRATES: You ought not to bid him use auspicious words, who says that you would
not be willing to commit so horrible a deed, but rather him who affirms the contrary, if
the act appear to you unfit even to be mentioned. Or do you think that Orestes, had he
been in his senses and knew what was best for him to do, would ever have dared to
venture on such a crime?
ALCIBIADES: Certainly not.
SOCRATES: Nor would any one else, I fancy?
ALCIBIADES: No.
SOCRATES: That ignorance is bad then, it would appear, which is of the best and does
not know what is best?
ALCIBIADES: So I think, at least.
SOCRATES: And both to the person who is ignorant and everybody else?
ALCIBIADES: Yes.
SOCRATES: Let us take another case. Suppose that you were suddenly to get into your
head that it would be a good thing to kill Pericles, your kinsman and guardian, and were
to seize a sword and, going to the doors of his house, were to enquire if he were at
home, meaning to slay only him and no one else:—the servants reply, ‘Yes’: (Mind, I do
not mean that you would really do such a thing; but there is nothing, you think, to
prevent a man who is ignorant of the best, having occasionally the whim that what is
worst is best?
ALCIBIADES: No.)
SOCRATES:—If, then, you went indoors, and seeing him, did not know him, but thought
that he was some one else, would you venture to slay him?
ALCIBIADES: Most decidedly not (it seems to me). (These words are omitted in several
MSS.)
SOCRATES: For you designed to kill, not the first who offered, but Pericles himself?
ALCIBIADES: Certainly.
SOCRATES: And if you made many attempts, and each time failed to recognize Pericles,
you would never attack him?
ALCIBIADES: Never.
SOCRATES: Well, but if Orestes in like manner had not known his mother, do you think
that he would ever have laid hands upon her?
ALCIBIADES: No.
SOCRATES: He did not intend to slay the first woman he came across, nor any one else’s
mother, but only his own?
ALCIBIADES: True.
SOCRATES: Ignorance, then, is better for those who are in such a frame of mind, and
have such ideas?
ALCIBIADES: Obviously.
SOCRATES: You acknowledge that for some persons in certain cases the ignorance of
some things is a good and not an evil, as you formerly supposed?
ALCIBIADES: I do.
SOCRATES: And there is still another case which will also perhaps appear strange to you,
if you will consider it? (The reading is here uncertain.)
ALCIBIADES: What is that, Socrates?
SOCRATES: It may be, in short, that the possession of all the sciences, if unaccompanied
by the knowledge of the best, will more often than not injure the possessor. Consider
the matter thus:—Must we not, when we intend either to do or say anything, suppose
that we know or ought to know that which we propose so confidently to do or say?
ALCIBIADES: Yes, in my opinion.
SOCRATES: We may take the orators for an example, who from time to time advise us
about war and peace, or the building of walls and the construction of harbours, whether
they understand the business in hand, or only think that they do. Whatever the city, in a
word, does to another city, or in the management of her own affairs, all happens by the
counsel of the orators.
ALCIBIADES: True.
SOCRATES: But now see what follows, if I can (make it clear to you). (Some words appear
to have dropped out here.) You would distinguish the wise from the foolish?
ALCIBIADES: Yes.
SOCRATES: The many are foolish, the few wise?
ALCIBIADES: Certainly.
SOCRATES: And you use both the terms, ‘wise’ and ‘foolish,’ in reference to something?
ALCIBIADES: I do.
SOCRATES: Would you call a person wise who can give advice, but does not know
whether or when it is better to carry out the advice?
ALCIBIADES: Decidedly not.
SOCRATES: Nor again, I suppose, a person who knows the art of war, but does not know
whether it is better to go to war or for how long?
ALCIBIADES: No.
SOCRATES: Nor, once more, a person who knows how to kill another or to take away his
property or to drive him from his native land, but not when it is better to do so or for
whom it is better?
ALCIBIADES: Certainly not.
SOCRATES: But he who understands anything of the kind and has at the same time the
knowledge of the best course of action:—and the best and the useful are surely the
same?—
ALCIBIADES: Yes.
SOCRATES:—Such an one, I say, we should call wise and a useful adviser both of himself
and of the city. What do you think?
ALCIBIADES: I agree.
SOCRATES: And if any one knows how to ride or to shoot with the bow or to box or to
wrestle, or to engage in any other sort of contest or to do anything whatever which is in
the nature of an art,—what do you call him who knows what is best according to that
art? Do you not speak of one who knows what is best in riding as a good rider?
ALCIBIADES: Yes.
SOCRATES: And in a similar way you speak of a good boxer or a good flute-player or a
good performer in any other art?
ALCIBIADES: True.
SOCRATES: But is it necessary that the man who is clever in any of these arts should be
wise also in general? Or is there a difference between the clever artist and the wise man?
ALCIBIADES: All the difference in the world.
SOCRATES: And what sort of a state do you think that would be which was composed of
good archers and flute-players and athletes and masters in other arts, and besides them
of those others about whom we spoke, who knew how to go to war and how to kill, as
well as of orators puffed up with political pride, but in which not one of them all had this
knowledge of the best, and there was no one who could tell when it was better to apply
any of these arts or in regard to whom?
ALCIBIADES: I should call such a state bad, Socrates.
SOCRATES: You certainly would when you saw each of them rivalling the other and
esteeming that of the greatest importance in the state,
‘Wherein he himself most excelled.’ (Euripides, Antiope.)
—I mean that which was best in any art, while he was entirely ignorant of what was best
for himself and for the state, because, as I think, he trusts to opinion which is devoid of
intelligence. In such a case should we not be right if we said that the state would be full
of anarchy and lawlessness?
ALCIBIADES: Decidedly.
SOCRATES: But ought we not then, think you, either to fancy that we know or really to
know, what we confidently propose to do or say?
ALCIBIADES: Yes.
SOCRATES: And if a person does that which he knows or supposes that he knows, and
the result is beneficial, he will act advantageously both for himself and for the state?
ALCIBIADES: True.
SOCRATES: And if he do the contrary, both he and the state will suffer?
ALCIBIADES: Yes.
SOCRATES: Well, and are you of the same mind, as before?
ALCIBIADES: I am.
SOCRATES: But were you not saying that you would call the many unwise and the few
wise?
ALCIBIADES: I was.
SOCRATES: And have we not come back to our old assertion that the many fail to obtain
the best because they trust to opinion which is devoid of intelligence?
ALCIBIADES: That is the case.
SOCRATES: It is good, then, for the many, if they particularly desire to do that which they
know or suppose that they know, neither to know nor to suppose that they know, in
cases where if they carry out their ideas in action they will be losers rather than gainers?
ALCIBIADES: What you say is very true.
SOCRATES: Do you not see that I was really speaking the truth when I affirmed that the
possession of any other kind of knowledge was more likely to injure than to benefit the
possessor, unless he had also the knowledge of the best?
ALCIBIADES: I do now, if I did not before, Socrates.
SOCRATES: The state or the soul, therefore, which wishes to have a right existence must
hold firmly to this knowledge, just as the sick man clings to the physician, or the
passenger depends for safety on the pilot. And if the soul does not set sail until she
have obtained this she will be all the safer in the voyage through life. But when she
rushes in pursuit of wealth or bodily strength or anything else, not having the
knowledge of the best, so much the more is she likely to meet with misfortune. And he
who has the love of learning (Or, reading polumatheian, ‘abundant learning.’), and is
skilful in many arts, and does not possess the knowledge of the best, but is under some
other guidance, will make, as he deserves, a sorry voyage:— he will, I believe, hurry
through the brief space of human life, pilotless in mid-ocean, and the words will apply
to him in which the poet blamed his enemy:—
‘...Full many a thing he knew; But knew them all badly.’ (A fragment from the pseudoHomeric
poem, ‘Margites.’)
ALCIBIADES: How in the world, Socrates, do the words of the poet apply to him? They
seem to me to have no bearing on the point whatever.
SOCRATES: Quite the contrary, my sweet friend: only the poet is talking in riddles after
the fashion of his tribe. For all poetry has by nature an enigmatical character, and it is by
no means everybody who can interpret it. And if, moreover, the spirit of poetry happen
to seize on a man who is of a begrudging temper and does not care to manifest his
wisdom but keeps it to himself as far as he can, it does indeed require an almost
superhuman wisdom to discover what the poet would be at. You surely do not suppose
that Homer, the wisest and most divine of poets, was unaware of the impossibility of
knowing a thing badly: for it was no less a person than he who said of Margites that ‘he
knew many things, but knew them all badly.’ The solution of the riddle is this, I
imagine:—By ‘badly’ Homer meant ‘bad’ and ‘knew’ stands for ‘to know.’ Put the words
together;—the metre will suffer, but the poet’s meaning is clear;—‘Margites knew all
these things, but it was bad for him to know them.’ And, obviously, if it was bad for him
to know so many things, he must have been a good-for-nothing, unless the argument
has played us false.
ALCIBIADES: But I do not think that it has, Socrates: at least, if the argument is fallacious,
it would be difficult for me to find another which I could trust.
SOCRATES: And you are right in thinking so.
ALCIBIADES: Well, that is my opinion.
SOCRATES: But tell me, by Heaven:—you must see now the nature and greatness of the
difficulty in which you, like others, have your part. For you change about in all directions,
and never come to rest anywhere: what you once most strongly inclined to suppose, you
put aside again and quite alter your mind. If the God to whose shrine you are going
should appear at this moment, and ask before you made your prayer, ‘Whether you
would desire to have one of the things which we mentioned at first, or whether he
should leave you to make your own request:’—what in either case, think you, would be
the best way to take advantage of the opportunity?
ALCIBIADES: Indeed, Socrates, I could not answer you without consideration. It seems to
me to be a wild thing (The Homeric word margos is said to be here employed in allusion
to the quotation from the ‘Margites’ which Socrates has just made; but it is not used in
the sense which it has in Homer.) to make such a request; a man must be very careful
lest he pray for evil under the idea that he is asking for good, when shortly after he may
have to recall his prayer, and, as you were saying, demand the opposite of what he at
first requested.
SOCRATES: And was not the poet whose words I originally quoted wiser than we are,
when he bade us (pray God) to defend us from evil even though we asked for it?
ALCIBIADES: I believe that you are right.
SOCRATES: The Lacedaemonians, too, whether from admiration of the poet or because
they have discovered the idea for themselves, are wont to offer the prayer alike in public
and private, that the Gods will give unto them the beautiful as well as the good:—no
one is likely to hear them make any further petition. And yet up to the present time they
have not been less fortunate than other men; or if they have sometimes met with
misfortune, the fault has not been due to their prayer. For surely, as I conceive, the Gods
have power either to grant our requests, or to send us the contrary of what we ask.
And now I will relate to you a story which I have heard from certain of our elders. It
chanced that when the Athenians and Lacedaemonians were at war, our city lost every
battle by land and sea and never gained a victory. The Athenians being annoyed and
perplexed how to find a remedy for their troubles, decided to send and enquire at the
shrine of Ammon. Their envoys were also to ask, ‘Why the Gods always granted the
victory to the Lacedaemonians?’ ‘We,’ (they were to say,) ‘offer them more and finer
sacrifices than any other Hellenic state, and adorn their temples with gifts, as nobody
else does; moreover, we make the most solemn and costly processions to them every
year, and spend more money in their service than all the rest of the Hellenes put
together. But the Lacedaemonians take no thought of such matters, and pay so little
respect to the Gods that they have a habit of sacrificing blemished animals to them, and
in various ways are less zealous than we are, although their wealth is quite equal to
ours.’ When they had thus spoken, and had made their request to know what remedy
they could find against the evils which troubled them, the prophet made no direct
answer,—clearly because he was not allowed by the God to do so;—but he summoned
them to him and said: ‘Thus saith Ammon to the Athenians: “The silent worship of the
Lacedaemonians pleaseth me better than all the offerings of the other Hellenes.”’ Such
were the words of the God, and nothing more. He seems to have meant by ‘silent
worship’ the prayer of the Lacedaemonians, which is indeed widely different from the
usual requests of the Hellenes. For they either bring to the altar bulls with gilded horns
or make offerings to the Gods, and beg at random for what they need, good or bad.
When, therefore, the Gods hear them using words of ill omen they reject these costly
processions and sacrifices of theirs. And we ought, I think, to be very careful and
consider well what we should say and what leave unsaid. Homer, too, will furnish us with
similar stories. For he tells us how the Trojans in making their encampment,
‘Offered up whole hecatombs to the immortals,’
and how the ‘sweet savour’ was borne ‘to the heavens by the winds;
‘But the blessed Gods were averse and received it not. For exceedingly did they hate the
holy Ilium, Both Priam and the people of the spear-skilled king.’
So that it was in vain for them to sacrifice and offer gifts, seeing that they were hateful
to the Gods, who are not, like vile usurers, to be gained over by bribes. And it is foolish
for us to boast that we are superior to the Lacedaemonians by reason of our much
worship. The idea is inconceivable that the Gods have regard, not to the justice and
purity of our souls, but to costly processions and sacrifices, which men may celebrate
year after year, although they have committed innumerable crimes against the Gods or
against their fellow-men or the state. For the Gods, as Ammon and his prophet declare,
are no receivers of gifts, and they scorn such unworthy service. Wherefore also it would
seem that wisdom and justice are especially honoured both by the Gods and by men of
sense; and they are the wisest and most just who know how to speak and act towards
Gods and men. But I should like to hear what your opinion is about these matters.
ALCIBIADES: I agree, Socrates, with you and with the God, whom, indeed, it would be
unbecoming for me to oppose.
SOCRATES: Do you not remember saying that you were in great perplexity, lest
perchance you should ask for evil, supposing that you were asking for good?
ALCIBIADES: I do.
SOCRATES: You see, then, that there is a risk in your approaching the God in prayer, lest
haply he should refuse your sacrifice when he hears the blasphemy which you utter, and
make you partake of other evils as well. The wisest plan, therefore, seems to me that you
should keep silence; for your ‘highmindedness’—to use the mildest term which men
apply to folly— will most likely prevent you from using the prayer of the
Lacedaemonians. You had better wait until we find out how we should behave towards
the Gods and towards men.
ALCIBIADES: And how long must I wait, Socrates, and who will be my teacher? I should
be very glad to see the man.
SOCRATES: It is he who takes an especial interest in you. But first of all, I think, the
darkness must be taken away in which your soul is now enveloped, just as Athene in
Homer removes the mist from the eyes of Diomede that
‘He may distinguish between God and mortal man.’
Afterwards the means may be given to you whereby you may distinguish between good
and evil. At present, I fear, this is beyond your power.
ALCIBIADES: Only let my instructor take away the impediment, whether it pleases him to
call it mist or anything else! I care not who he is; but I am resolved to disobey none of
his commands, if I am likely to be the better for them.
SOCRATES: And surely he has a wondrous care for you.
ALCIBIADES: It seems to be altogether advisable to put off the sacrifice until he is found.
SOCRATES: You are right: that will be safer than running such a tremendous risk.
ALCIBIADES: But how shall we manage, Socrates?—At any rate I will set this crown of
mine upon your head, as you have given me such excellent advice, and to the Gods we
will offer crowns and perform the other customary rites when I see that day
approaching: nor will it be long hence, if they so will.
SOCRATES: I accept your gift, and shall be ready and willing to receive whatever else you
may proffer. Euripides makes Creon say in the play, when he beholds Teiresias with his
crown and hears that he has gained it by his skill as the first-fruits of the spoil:—
‘An auspicious omen I deem thy victor’s wreath: For well thou knowest that wave and
storm oppress us.’
And so I count your gift to be a token of good-fortune; for I am in no less stress than
Creon, and would fain carry off the victory over your lovers.
VI
GREATER
HIPPIAS

GREATER HIPPIAS
Persons of the Dialogue :
SOCRATES ; HIPPIAS.
[281a] Socrates : Hippias, beautiful and wise, what a long time it is since you have
put in at the port of Athens !
Hippias : I am too busy, Socrates. For whenever Elis needs to have any business
transacted with any of the states, she always comes to me first of her citizens and
chooses me as envoy, thinking that I am the ablest judge and messenger of the
words that are spoken by the several states. [281b] So I have often gone as envoy
to other states, but most often and concerning the most numerous and
important matters to Lacedaemon. For that reason, then, since you ask me, I do
not often come to this neighborhood.
Socrates : That’s what it is, Hippias, to be a truly wise and perfect man ! For you
are both in your private capacity able to earn much money from the young [281c]
and to confer upon them still greater benefits than you receive, and in public
affairs you are able to benefit your own state, as a man must who is to be not
despised but held in high repute among the many. And yet, Hippias, what in the
world is the reason why those men of old whose names are called great in
respect to wisdom — Pittacus, and Bias, and the Milesian Thales with his
followers and also the later ones, down to Anaxagoras, are all, [281d] or most of
them, found to refrain from affairs of state ?
Hippias : What else do you suppose, Socrates, than that they were not able to
compass by their wisdom both public and private matters ?
Socrates : Then for Heaven’s sake, just as the other arts have progressed, and the
ancients are of no account in comparison with the artisans of today, shall we say
that your art also has progressed and those of the ancients who were concerned
with wisdom are of no account in comparison with you ?
Hippias : Yes, you are quite right.
Socrates : Then, Hippias, if Bias were to come to life again now, [282a] he would
be a laughing-stock in comparison with you, just as the sculptors say that
Daedalus, if he were to be born now and were to create such works as those from
which he got his reputation, would be ridiculous.
Hippias : That, Socrates, is exactly as you say. I, however, am in the habit of
praising the ancients and our predecessors rather than the men of the present
day, and more greatly, as a precaution against the envy of the living and through
fear of the wrath of those who are dead.
[282b] Socrates : Yours, Hippias, is a most excellent way, at any rate, of speaking
about them and of thinking, it seems to me and I can bear you witness that you
speak the truth, and that your art really has progressed in the direction of ability
to carry on public together with private affairs. For this man Gorgias, the sophist
from Leontini, came here from home in the public capacity of envoy, as being
best able of all the citizens of Leontini to attend to the interests of the
community, and it was the general opinion that he spoke excellently in the public
assembly, and in his private capacity, by giving exhibitions and associating with
the young, he earned and received a great deal of money from this city ; [282c] or,
if you like, our friend here, Prodicus, often went to other places in a public
capacity, and the last time, just lately, when he came here in a public capacity
from Ceos, he gained great reputation by his speaking before the Council, and in
his private capacity, by giving exhibitions and associating with the young, he
received a marvellous sum of money ; but none of those ancients ever thought fit
to exact the money as payment for his wisdom or to give exhibitions among
people of various places ; [282d] so simple-minded were they, and so unconscious
of the fact that money is of the greatest value. But either of these two has earned
more money from his wisdom than any artisan from his art. And even before
these Protagoras did so.
Hippias : Why, Socrates, you know nothing of the beauties of this. For if you were
to know how much money I have made, you would be amazed. I won’t mention
the rest, but once, when I went to Sicily, [282e] although Protagoras was staying
there and had a great reputation and was the older, I, who was much younger,
made in a very short time more than one hundred and fifty minas, and in one
very small place, Inycus, more than twenty minas ; and when I came home, I took
this and gave it to my father, so that he and the other citizens were overwhelmed
with amazement. And I pretty well think I have made more money than any other
two sophists together.
Socrates : That’s a fine thing you say, Hippias, and strong testimony to your
wisdom [283a] and that of the men of today and to their great superiority to the
ancients. For the earlier sophists of the school of Anaxagoras must have been
very ignorant to judge from what is said, according to your view ; for they say
that what happened to Anaxagoras was the opposite of what happens to you ;
for though much money was left him, he neglected it and lost it all so senseless
was his wisdom. And they tell similar tales about others among the ancients. So
this seems to me fine testimony that you adduce for the wisdom of the men of
today as compared with the earlier men, [283b] and many people agree with me
that the wise man must be wise for himself especially ; and the test of this is, who
makes the most money. Well, so much for that. But tell me this : at which of the
cities that you go to did you make the most money ? Or are we to take it that it
was at Lacedaemon, where your visits have been most frequent ?
Hippias : No, by Zeus, it was not, Socrates.
Socrates : What’s that you say ? But did you make least there ?
[283c] Hippias : Why, I never made anything at all.
Socrates : That is a prodigious marvel that you tell, Hippias ; and say now : is not
your wisdom such as to make those who are in contact with it and learn it, better
men in respect to virtue ?
Hippias : Yes, much better, Socrates.
Socrates : But you were able to make the sons of the Inycenes better, and had no
power to improve the sons of the Spartans ?
Hippias : That is far from true.
Socrates : Well, then, the Siceliotes desire to become better, and the
Lacedaemonians do not ?
[283d] Hippias : No certainly, Socrates, the Lacedaemonians also desire it.
Socrates : Then it was for lack of money that they avoided intercourse with you ?
Hippias : Not at all, since they have plenty of money.
Socrates : What, then, could be the reason, that when they desired it and had
money, and you had power to confer upon them the greatest benefits, they did
not send you away loaded with money ? But I see ; perhaps the Lacedaemonians
might educate their own children better than you ? Shall we state it so, and do
you agree ?
[283e] Hippias : Not in the least.
Socrates : Then were you not able to persuade the young men at Lacedaemon
that they would make more progress towards virtue by associating with you than
with their own people, or were you powerless to persuade their fathers that they
ought rather to hand them over to you than to care for them themselves, if they
are at all concerned for their sons ? For surely they did not begrudge it to their
children to become as good as possible.
Hippias : I do not think they begrudged it.
Socrates : But certainly Lacedaemon is well governed.
Hippias : Of course it is.
[284a] Socrates : And in well-governed states virtue is most highly honored.
Hippias : Certainly.
Socrates : And you know best of all men how to transmit that to another.
Hippias : Much best, Socrates.
Socrates : Well, he who knows best how to transmit horsemanship would be
most honored in Thessaly of all parts of Greece and would receive most money
— and anywhere else where horsemanship is a serious interest, would he not ?
Hippias : Very likely.
Socrates : Then will not he who is able to transmit the doctrines that are of most
value [284b] for the acquisition of virtue be most highly honored in Lacedaemon
and make most money, if he so wishes, and in any other of the Greek states that
is well governed ? But do you, my friend, think he will fare better in Sicily and at
Inycus ? Are we to believe that, Hippias ? For if you tell us to do so, we must
believe it.
Hippias : Yes, for it is not the inherited usage of the Lacedaemonians to change
their laws or to educate their children differently from what is customary.
Socrates : What ? For the Lacedaemonians is it the hereditary usage not to act
rightly, [284c] but to commit errors ?
Hippias : I wouldn’t say so, Socrates.
Socrates : Would they, then, not act rightly in educating the young men better,
but not in educating them worse ?
Hippias : Yes, they would ; but it is not lawful for them to give them a foreign
education ; for you may be sure that if anybody had ever received money there in
payment for education, I should have received by far the most ; they certainly
enjoy hearing me and they applaud me ; but, as I say, it is not the law.
Socrates : But, Hippias, do you say that law is an injury to the state, [284d] or a
benefit ?
Hippias : It is made, I think, with benefit in view, but sometimes, if the law is
badly made, it is injurious.
Socrates : Well, then, is it not true that those who make the law make it as the
greatest good to the state, and that without this it is impossible to enjoy good
government ?
Hippias : What you say is true.
Socrates : Then, when those who make the laws miss the good, they have missed
the lawful and the law ; or what do you say ?
[284e] Hippias : Speaking accurately, Socrates, that is true ; however, men are not
accustomed to think so.
Socrates : The men who know, Hippias, or those who do not know ?
Hippias : The many.
Socrates : Are these, the many, those who know the truth ?
Hippias : Certainly not.
Socrates : But surely those who know, think that in truth for all men that which is
more beneficial is more lawful than that which is less beneficial ; or do you not
agree ?
Hippias : Yes, I agree that they think it is so in truth.
Socrates : Well, it actually is as those who know think it is, is it not ?
Hippias : Certainly.
Socrates : But or the Lacedaemonians, as you say, [285a] it is more beneficial to
be educated in your education, which is foreign, than in the local education.
Hippias : Yes, and what I say is true.
Socrates : And do you say this also, Hippias, that beneficial things are more
lawful ?
Hippias : Yes, I said so.
Socrates : Then, according to what you say, it is more lawful for the sons of the
Lacedaemonians to be educated by Hippias and less lawful for them to be
educated by their fathers, if in reality they will be more benefited by you.
Hippias : But certainly they will be benefited, Socrates.
[285b] Socrates : Then the Lacedaemonians in not giving you money and
entrusting their sons to you, act contrary to law.
Hippias : I agree to that ; for you seem to be making your argument in my
favour, and there is no need of my opposing it.
Socrates : Then my friends, we find that the Lacedaemonians are law-breakers,
and that too in the most important affairs — they who are regarded as the most
law-abiding of men. But then, for Heaven’s sake, Hippias, what sort of discourses
are those for which they applaud you and which they enjoy hearing ? [285c] Or
are they evidently those which you understand most admirably, those about the
stars and the phenomena of the heavens ?
Hippias : Not in the least ; they won’t even endure those.
Socrates : But they enjoy hearing about geometry ?
Hippias : Not at all, since one might say that many of them do not even know
how to count.
Socrates : Then they are far from enduring a lecture by you on the processes of
thought.
Hippias : Far from it indeed, by Zeus.
Socrates : Well, then, those matters which you of all men know best how to
discuss, [285d] concerning the value of letters and syllables and rhythms and
harmonies ?
Hippias : Harmonies indeed, my good fellow, and letters !
Socrates : But then what are the things about which they like to listen to you and
which they applaud ? Tell me yourself, for I cannot discover them.
Hippias : They are very fond of hearing about the genealogies of heroes and
men, Socrates, and the foundations of cities in ancient times and, in short, about
antiquity in general, so that for their sake I have been obliged to learn all that
sort of thing by heart [285e] and practise it thoroughly.
Socrates : By Zeus, Hippias, it is lucky for you that the Lacedaemonians do not
enjoy hearing one recite the list of our archons from Solon’s time ; if they did, you
would have trouble in learning it by heart.
Hippias : How so, Socrates ? After hearing them once, I can remember fifty
names.
Socrates : True, but I did not understand that you possess the science of
memory ; and so I understand that the Lacedaemonians naturally enjoy you as
one who knows many things, and they make use of you [286a] as children make
use of old women, to tell stories agreeably.
Hippias : And by Zeus, Socrates, I have just lately gained reputation there by
telling about noble or beautiful pursuits, recounting what those of a young man
should be. For I have a very beautiful discourse composed about them, well
arranged in its words and also in other respects. And the plan of the discourse,
and its beginning, is something like this : After the fall of Troy, the story goes that
Neoptolemus asked Nestor [286b] what the noble and beautiful pursuits were, by
following which a young man would become most famous ; so after that we have
Nestor speaking and suggesting to him very many lawful and most beautiful
pursuits. That discourse, then, I delivered there and intend to deliver here the day
after tomorrow in Pheidostratus’s schoolroom, with many other things worth
hearing ; for Eudicus, the son of Apemantus, asked me to do so. Now be sure to
be there yourself and to bring others [286c] who are able to judge of discourses
that they hear.
Socrates : Well, that shall be done, God willing, Hippias. Now, however, give me a
brief answer to a question about your discourse, for you reminded me of the
beautiful just at the right moment. For recently, my most excellent friend, as I was
finding fault with some things in certain speeches as ugly and praising other
things as beautiful, a man threw me into confusion by questioning me very
insolently somewhat after this fashion : “How, if you please, do you know,
Socrates,” said he, [286d] “what sort of things are beautiful and ugly ? For, come
now, could you tell me what the beautiful is ?” And I, being of no account, was at
a loss and could not answer him properly ; and so, as I was going away from the
company, I was angry with myself and reproached myself, and threatened that
the first time I met one of you wise men, I would hear and learn and practise and
then go back to the man who questioned me to renew the wordy strife. So now,
as I say, you have come at the right moment ; [286e] just teach me satisfactorily
what the absolute beautiful is, and try in replying to speak as accurately as
possible, that I may not be confuted a second time and be made ridiculous again.
For you doubtless know clearly, and this would doubtless be but a small example
of your wide learning.
Hippias : Yes, surely, by Zeus, a small one, Socrates, and, I may say, of no value.
Socrates : Then I shall learn it easily, and nobody will confute me any more.
Hippias : Nobody, surely ; for in that case my profession would be [287a]
worthless and ordinary.
Socrates : That is good, by Hera, Hippias, if we are to worst the fellow. But may I
without hindering you imitate him, and when you answer, take exception to what
you say, in order that you may give me as much practice as possible ? For I am
more or less experienced in taking exceptions. So, if it is all the same to you, I
wish to take exceptions, that I may learn more vigorously.
Hippias : Oh yes, take exceptions. For, as I said just now, [287b] the question is no
great matter, but I could teach you to answer much harder ones than this, so that
nobody in the world could confute you.
Socrates : Oh how good that is ! But come, since you tell me to do so, now let
me try to play that man’s part, so far as possible, and ask you questions. For if
you were to deliver for him this discourse that you mention, the one about
beautiful pursuits, when he had heard it, after you had stopped speaking, the
very first thing he would ask about would be the beautiful ; [287c] for he has that
sort of habit, and he would say, “Stranger from Elis, is it not by justice that the
just are just ?” So answer, Hippias, as though he were asking the question.
Hippias : I shall answer that it is by justice.
Socrates : “Then this — I mean justice — is something ?”
Hippias : Certainly.
Socrates : “Then, too, by wisdom the wise are wise and by the good all things are
good, are they not ?”
Hippias : Of course.
Socrates : “And justice, wisdom, and so forth are something ; for the just, wise,
and so forth would not be such by them, if they were not something.”
Hippias : To be sure, they are something.
Socrates : “Then are not all beautiful things beautiful by the beautiful ?”
[287d] Hippias : Yes, by the beautiful.
Socrates : “By the beautiful, which is something ?”
Hippias : Yes, for what alternative is there ?
Socrates : “Tell me, then, stranger,” he will say, “what is this, the beautiful ?”
Hippias : Well, Socrates, does he who asks this question want to find out
anything else than what is beautiful ?
Socrates : I do not think that is what he wants to find out, [287e] but what the
beautiful is.
Hippias : And what difference is there between the two ?
Socrates : Do you think there is none ?
Hippias : Yes, for there is no difference.
Socrates : Well, surely it is plain that you know best ; but still, my good friend,
consider ; for he asked you, not what is beautiful, but what the beautiful is.
Hippias : I understand, my good friend, and I will answer and tell him what the
beautiful is, and I shall never be confuted. For be assured, Socrates, if I must
speak the truth, a beautiful maiden is beautiful.
Socrates : Beautifully answered, Hippias, by the dog, and notably ! Then if I give
this answer, I shall have answered the question that was asked, and shall have
answered it correctly, [288a] and shall never be confuted ?
Hippias : Yes, for how could you, Socrates, be confuted, when you say what
everybody thinks, and when all who hear it will bear witness that what you say is
correct ?
Socrates : Very well ; certainly. Come, then, Hippias, let me rehearse to myself
what you say. The man will question me in some such fashion as this : “Come
Socrates, answer me. All these things which you say are beautiful, if the absolute
beautiful is anything, would be beautiful ?” And I shall say that if a beautiful
maiden is beautiful, there is something by reason of which these things would be
beautiful.
[288b] Hippias : Do you think, then, that he will still attempt to refute you and to
show that what you say is not beautiful, or, if he does attempt it, that he will not
be ridiculous ?
Socrates : That he will attempt it, my admirable friend, I am sure but whether the
attempt will make him ridiculous, the event will show. However, I should like to
tell you what he will ask.
Hippias : Do so.
Socrates : “How charming you are, Socrates !” he will say. “But is not a beautiful
mare beautiful, which even the god praised in his oracle ?” [288c] What shall we
say, Hippias ? Shall we not say that the mare is beautiful, I mean the beautiful
mare ? For how could we dare to deny that the beautiful thing is beautiful ?
Hippias : Quite true, Socrates for what the god said is quite correct, too ; for very
beautiful mares are bred in our country.
Socrates : “Very well,” he will say, “and how about a beautiful lyre ? Is it not
beautiful ?” Shall we agree, Hippias ?
Hippias : Yes.
Socrates : After this, then, the man will ask, I am sure, judging by his character :
“You most excellent man, how about a beautiful pot ? Is it, then, not beautiful ?”
[288d] Hippias : Socrates, who is the fellow ? What an uncultivated person, who
has the face to mention such worthless things in a dignified discussion !
Socrates : That’s the kind of person he is, Hippias, not elegant, but vulgar,
thinking of nothing but the truth. But nevertheless the man must be answered,
and I will declare my opinion beforehand : if the pot were made by a good potter,
were smooth and round and well fired, as are some of the two-handled pots,
those that hold six choes, very beautiful ones — [288e] if that were the kind of pot
he asked about, we must agree that it is beautiful ; for how could we say that
being beautiful it is not beautiful ?
Hippias : We could not at all, Socrates.
Socrates : “Then,” he will say, “a beautiful pot also is beautiful, is it not ?” Answer.
Hippias : Well, Socrates, it is like this, I think. This utensil, when well wrought, is
beautiful, but absolutely considered it does not deserve to be regarded as
beautiful in comparison with a mare and a maiden and all the beautiful things.
[289a] Socrates : Very well I understand, Hippias, that the proper reply to him
who asks these questions is this : “Sir, you are not aware that the saying of
Heracleitus is good, that ‘the most beautiful of monkeys is ugly compared with
the race of man,’ and the most beautiful of pots is ugly compared with the race
of maidens, as Hippias the wise man says.” Is it not so, Hippias ?
Hippias : Certainly, Socrates ; you replied rightly.
Socrates : Listen then. For I am sure that after this he will say : “Yes, but, Socrates,
if we compare maidens with gods, [289b] will not the same thing happen to them
that happened to pots when compared with maidens ? Will not the most
beautiful maiden appear ugly ? Or does not Heracleitus, whom you cite, mean
just this, that the wisest of men, if compared with a god, will appear a monkey,
both in wisdom and in beauty and in everything else ?” Shall we agree, Hippias,
that the most beautiful maiden is ugly if compared with the gods ?
Hippias : Yes, for who would deny that, Socrates ?
[289c] Socrates : If, then, we agree to that, he will laugh and say : “Socrates, do
you remember the question you were asked ?” “I do,” I shall say, “the question
was what the absolute beautiful is.” “Then,” he will say, “when you were asked for
the beautiful, do you give as your reply what is, as you yourself say, no more
beautiful than ugly ?” “So it seems,” I shall say ; or what do you, my friend, advise
me to say ?
Hippias : That is what I advise ; for, of course, in saying that the human race is
not beautiful in comparison with gods, you will be speaking the truth.
Socrates : “But if I had asked you,” he will say, “in the beginning what is beautiful
and ugly, [289d] if you had replied as you now do, would you not have replied
correctly ? But do you still think that the absolute beautiful, by the addition of
which all other things are adorned and made to appear beautiful, when its form is
added to any of them — do you think that is a maiden or a mare or a lyre ?”
Hippias : Well, certainly, Socrates, if that is what he is looking for, nothing is
easier than to answer and tell him what the beautiful is, by which all other things
are adorned and by the addition of which they are made to appear beautiful.
[289e] So the fellow is very simple-minded and knows nothing about beautiful
possessions. For if you reply to him : “This that you ask about, the beautiful, is
nothing else but gold,” he will be thrown into confusion and will not attempt to
confute you. For we all know, I fancy, that wherever this is added, even what
before appears ugly will appear beautiful when adorned with gold.
Socrates : You don't know the man, Hippias, what a wretch he is, and how certain
not to accept anything easily.
Hippias : What of that, then, Socrates ? For he must perforce accept what is
correct, [290a] or if he does not accept it, be ridiculous.
Socrates : This reply, my most excellent friend, he not only will certainly not
accept, but he will even jeer at me grossly and will say : “You lunatic, do you think
Pheidias is a bad craftsman ?” And I shall say, “Not in the least.”
Hippias : And you will be right, Socrates.
Socrates : Yes, to be sure. Consequently when I agree that Pheidias is a good
craftsman, [290b] “Well, then,” he will say, “do you imagine that Pheidias did not
know this beautiful that you speak of ?” “Why do you ask that ?” I shall say.
“Because,” he will say, “he did not make the eyes of his Athena of gold, nor the
rest of her face, nor her hands and feet, if, that is, they were sure to appear most
beautiful provided only they were made of gold, but he made them of ivory ;
evidently he made this mistake through ignorance, not knowing that it is gold
which makes everything beautiful to which it is added.” When he says that, what
reply shall we make to him, Hippias ?
[290c] Hippias : That is easy ; for we shall say that Pheidias did right ; for ivory, I
think, is beautiful.
Socrates : “Why, then,” he will say, “did he not make the middle parts of the eyes
also of ivory, but of stone, procuring stone as similar as possible to the ivory ? Or
is beautiful stone also beautiful ?” Shall we say that it is, Hippias ?
Hippias : Surely we shall say so, that is, where it is appropriate.
Socrates : “But ugly when not appropriate ?” Shall I agree, or not ?
Hippias : Agree, that is, when it is not appropriate.
[290d] Socrates : “What then ? Do not gold and ivory,” he will say, “when they are
appropriate, make things beautiful, and when they are not appropriate, ugly ?”
Shall we deny that, or agree that what he says is correct ?
Hippias : We shall agree to this, at any rate, that whatever is appropriate to any
particular thing makes that thing beautiful.
Socrates : “Well, then,” he will say, “when some one has boiled the pot of which
we were speaking just now, the beautiful one, full of beautiful soup, is a golden
ladle appropriate to it, or one made of fig wood ?”
Hippias : Heracles ! What a fellow this is that you speak of ! [290e] Won’t you tell
me who he is ?
Socrates : You would not know him if I should tell you his name.
Hippias : But even now I know that he is an ignoramus.
Socrates : He is a great nuisance, Hippias, but yet, what shall we say ? Which of
the two ladles shall we say is appropriate to the soup and the pot ? Is it not
evidently the one of fig wood ? For it is likely to make the soup smell better, and
besides, my friend, it would not break the pot, thereby spilling the soup, putting
out the fire, and making those who are to be entertained go without their
splendid soup ; whereas the golden ladle would do all those things, [291a] so that
it seems to me that we must say that the wooden ladle is more appropriate than
the golden one, unless you disagree.
Hippias : No, for it is more appropriate, Socrates ; however, I, for my part, would
not talk with the fellow when he asks such questions.
Socrates : Quite right, my friend ; for it would not be appropriate for you to be
filled up with such words, you who are so beautifully clad, so beautifully shod,
and so famous for your wisdom among all the Greeks ; but for me it doesn’t
matter if I do associate with the fellow ; [291b] so instruct me and for my sake
answer him. “For if the wooden one is more appropriate than the golden one,”
the fellow will say, “would it not be more beautiful, since you agreed, Socrates,
that the appropriate is more beautiful than that which is not appropriate ?” Shall
we not agree, Hippias, that the wooden one is more beautiful than the golden ?
Hippias : Do you wish me to tell you, Socrates, what definition of the beautiful
will enable you to free yourself from long discussion ?
[291c] Socrates : Certainly ; but not until after you have told me which of the two
ladles I just spoke of I shall reply is appropriate and more beautiful.
Hippias : Well, if you like, reply to him that it is the one made of fig wood.
Socrates : Now, then, say what you were just now going to say. For by this reply,
if I say that the beautiful is gold, it seems to me that gold will be shown to be no
more beautiful than fig wood; but what do you now, once more, say that the
beautiful is ?
[291d] Hippias : I will tell you; for you seem to me to be seeking to reply that the
beautiful is something of such sort that it will never appear ugly anywhere to
anybody.
Socrates : Certainly, Hippias; now you understand beautifully.
Hippias : Listen, then ; for, mind you, if anyone has anything to say against this,
you may say I know nothing at all.
Socrates : Then for Heaven's sake, speak as quickly as you can.
Hippias : I say, then, that for every man and everywhere it is most beautiful to be
rich and healthy, and honored by the Greeks, to reach old age, and, after
providing a beautiful funeral for his deceased parents, [291e] to be beautifully and
splendidly buried by his own offspring.
Socrates : Bravo, bravo, Hippias ! You have spoken in a way that is wonderful and
great and worthy of you ; and now, by Hera, I thank you, because you are kindly
coming to my assistance to the best of your ability. But our shots are not hitting
the man ; no, he will laugh at us now more than ever, be sure of that.
Hippias : A wretched laugh, Socrates ; for when he has nothing to say to this, but
laughs, he will be laughing at himself [292a] and will himself be laughed at by
those present.
Socrates : Perhaps that is so perhaps, however, after this reply, he will, I foresee,
be likely to do more than laugh at me.
Hippias : Why do you say that, pray ?
Socrates : Because, if he happens to have a stick, unless I get away in a hurry, he
will try to fetch me a good one.
Hippias : What ? Is the fellow some sort of master of yours, and if he does that,
will he not be arrested and have to pay for it ? Or does your city disregard justice
[292b] and allow the citizens to beat one another unjustly ?
Socrates : Oh no that is not allowed at all.
Hippias : Then he will have to pay a penalty for beating you unjustly.
Socrates : I do not think so, Hippias. No, if I were to make that reply, the beating
would be just, I think.
Hippias : Then I think so, too, Socrates, since that is your own belief.
Socrates : Shall I, then, not tell you why it is my own belief that the beating
would be just, if I made that reply ? Or will you also beat me without trial ? Or will
you listen to what I have to say ?
[292c] Hippias : It would be shocking if I would not listen ; but what have you to
say ?
Socrates : I will tell you, imitating him in the same way as a while ago, that I may
not use to you such harsh and uncouth words as he uses to me. For you may be
sure, “Tell me, Socrates,” he will say, “do you think it would be unjust if you got a
beating for singing such a long dithyramb so unmusically and so far from the
question ?” “How so ?” I shall say. “How so ?” he will say ; “are you not able to
remember that I asked for the absolute beautiful, [292d] by which everything to
which it is added has the property of being beautiful, both stone and stick and
man and god and every act and every acquisition of knowledge ? For what I am
asking is this, man : what is absolute beauty ? and I cannot make you hear what I
say any more than if you were a stone sitting beside me, and a millstone at that,
having neither ears nor brain.” Would you, then, not be angry, Hippias, if I should
be frightened and should reply in this way ? “Well, but Hippias said that this was
the beautiful ; [292e] and yet I asked him, just as you asked me, what is beautiful
to all and always.” What do you say ? Will you not be angry if I say that ?
Hippias : I know very well, Socrates, that this which I said was beautiful is
beautiful to all and will seem so.
Socrates : And will it be so, too he will say for the beautiful is always beautiful, is
it not ?
Hippias : Certainly.
Socrates : “Then was it so, too ?” he will say.
Hippias : It was so, too.
Socrates : “And,” he will say, “did the stranger from Elis say also that for Achilles
it was beautiful to be buried later than his parents, and for his grandfather
Aeacus, and all the others who were born of gods, [293a] and for the gods
themselves ?”
Hippias : What’s that ? Confound it ! These questions of the fellow’s are not even
respectful to religion.
Socrates : Well, then, when another asks the question, perhaps it is not quite
disrespectful to religion to say that these things are so ?
Hippias : Perhaps.
Socrates : “Perhaps, then, you are the man,” he will say, “who says that it is
beautiful for every one and always to be buried by one’s offspring, and to bury
one’s parents; or was not Heracles included in ‘every one,’ he and all those whom
we just now mentioned ?”
Hippias : But I did not say it was so for the gods.
Socrates : “Nor for the heroes either, apparently.”
[293b] Hippias : Not those who were children of gods.
Socrates : “But those who were not ?”
Hippias : Certainly.
Socrates : “Then again, according to your statement, among the heroes it is
terrible and impious and disgraceful for Tantalus and Dardanus and Zethus, but
beautiful for Pelops and the others who were born as he was ?”
Hippias : I think so.
Socrates : “You think, then, what you did not say just now, that to bury one’s
parents and be buried by one’s offspring is sometimes and for some persons
disgraceful ; [293c] and it is still more impossible, as it seems, for this to become
and to be beautiful for all, so that the same thing has happened to this as to the
things we mentioned before, the maiden and the pot, in a still more ridiculous
way than to them; it is beautiful for some and not beautiful for others. And you
are not able yet, even today, Socrates,” he will say, “to answer what is asked
about the beautiful, namely what it is.” With these words and the like he will
rebuke me, if I reply to him in this way. [293d] For the most part, Hippias, he talks
with me in some such way as that but sometimes, as if in pity for my inexperience
and lack of training, he himself volunteers a question, and asks whether I think
the beautiful is so and so or whatever else it is which happens to be the subject
of our questions and our discussion.
Hippias : What do you mean by that, Socrates ?
Socrates : I will tell you. “Oh, my dear Socrates,” he says, “stop making replies of
this sort and in this way — for they are too silly and easy to refute ; but see if
something like this does not seem to you to be beautiful, [293e] which we got
hold of just now in our reply, when we said that gold was beautiful for those
things for which it was appropriate, but not for those for which it was not, and
that all the other things were beautiful to which this quality pertains ; so examine
this very thing, the appropriate, and see if it is perchance the beautiful.” Now I am
accustomed to agree to such things every time for I don’t know what to say ; but
now does it seem to you that the appropriate is the beautiful ?
Hippias : Yes, certainly, Socrates.
Socrates : Let us consider, lest we make a mistake somehow.
Hippias : Yes, we must consider.
Socrates : See, then ; do we say that the appropriate is that which, [294a] when it
is added, makes each of those things to which it is added appear beautiful, or
which makes them be beautiful, or neither of these ?
Hippias : I think so.
Socrates : Which ?
Hippias : That which makes them appear beautiful ; as when a man takes clothes
or shoes that fit, even if he be ridiculous, he appears more beautiful.
Socrates : Then if the appropriate makes him appear more beautiful than he is,
the appropriate would be a sort of deceit in respect to the beautiful, and would
not be that which we are looking for, would it, Hippias ? [294b] For we were rather
looking for that by which all beautiful things are beautiful — like that by which all
great things are great, that is, excess ; for it is by this that all great things are
great ; for even if they do not appear great, but exceed, they are of necessity
great ; so, then, we say, what would the beautiful be, by which all things are
beautiful, whether they appear so or not ? For it could not be the appropriate,
since that, by your statement, makes things appear more beautiful than they are,
but does not let them appear such as they are. [294c] But we must try to say what
that is which makes things be beautiful, as I said just now, whether they appear
so or not ; for that is what we are looking for, since we are looking for the
beautiful.
Hippias : But the appropriate, Socrates, makes things both be and appear
beautiful by its presence.
Socrates : Is it impossible, then, for things which are really beautiful not to
appear to be beautiful, at any rate when that is present which makes them appear
so ?
Hippias : It is impossible.
Socrates : Shall we, then, agree to this, Hippias, that all things which are really
beautiful, both uses and pursuits, are always believed to be beautiful by all, and
appear so to them, [294d] or, quite the contrary, that people are ignorant about
them, and that there is more strife and contention about them than about
anything else, both in private between individuals and in public between states ?
Hippias : The latter rather, Socrates ; that people are ignorant about them.
Socrates : They would not be so, if the appearance of beauty were added to
them ; and it would be added, if the appropriate were beautiful and made things
not only to be beautiful, but also to appear so. So that the appropriate, if it is that
which makes things be beautiful, would be the beautiful which we are looking for,
but would not be that which makes things appear beautiful ; but if, on the other
hand, the appropriate is that which makes things appear beautiful, [294e] it would
not be the beautiful for which we are looking. For that makes things be beautiful,
but the same element could not make things both appear and be beautiful, nor
could it make them both appear and be anything else whatsoever. Let us choose,
then, whether we think that the appropriate is that which makes things appear or
be beautiful.
Hippias : That which makes them appear so, in my opinion, Socrates.
Socrates : Whew ! Our perception of what the beautiful is has fled away and
gone, Hippias, since the appropriate has been found to be something other than
the beautiful.
Hippias : Yes, by Zeus, Socrates, and to me that is very queer.
[295a] Socrates : However, my friend, let us not yet give it up, for I still have
hopes that what the beautiful is will be made clear.
Hippias : Certainly, to be sure, Socrates, for it is not hard to find. Now I know that
if I should go away into solitude and meditate alone by myself, I could tell it to
you with the most perfect accuracy.
Socrates : Ah, don’t boast, Hippias. You see how much trouble it has caused us
already ; I’m afraid it may get angry and run away more than ever.[295b] And yet
that is nonsense ; for you, I think, will easily find it when you go away by yourself.
But for Heaven’s sake, find it in my presence, or, if you please, join me, as you are
now doing, in looking for it. And if we find it, that will be splendid, but if we do
not, I shall, I suppose, accept my lot, and you will go away and find it easily. And if
we find it now, I shall certainly not be a nuisance to you by asking what that was
which you found by yourself ; [295c] but now once more see if this is in your
opinion the beautiful : I say, then, that it is — but consider, paying close
attention to me, that I may not talk nonsense — for I say, then, whatever is useful
shall be for us beautiful. But I said it with this reason for my thought ; beautiful
eyes, we say, are not such as seem to be so, which are unable to see, but those
which are able and useful for seeing. Is that right ?
Hippias : Yes.
Socrates : Then, too, in the same way we say that the whole body is beautiful,
part of it for running, part for wrestling ; [295d] and again all the animals, a
beautiful horse or cock or quail and all utensils and land vehicles, and on the sea
freight-ships and ships of war ; and all instruments in music and in the other arts,
and, if you like, customs and laws also — pretty well all these we call beautiful in
the same way looking at each of them — how it is formed by nature, how it is
wrought, how it has been enacted — the useful we call beautiful, and beautiful in
the way in which it is useful, and for the purpose for which it is useful, and at the
time when it is useful ; [295e] and that which is in all these aspects useless we say
is ugly. Now is not this your opinion also, Hippias ?
Hippias : It is.
Socrates : Then are we right in saying that the useful rather than everything else
is beautiful ?
Hippias : We are right, surely, Socrates.
Socrates : Now that which has power to accomplish anything is useful for that for
which it has power, but that which is powerless is useless, is it not ?
Hippias : Certainly.
Socrates : Power, then, is beautiful, and want of power is disgraceful or ugly.
Hippias : Decidedly. Now other things, Socrates, [296a] testify for us that this is
so, but especially political affairs ; for in political affairs and in one’s own state to
be powerful is the most beautiful of all things, but to be powerless is the most
disgraceful of all.
Socrates : Good ! Then, for Heaven’s sake, Hippias, is wisdom also for this reason
the most beautiful of all things and ignorance the most disgraceful of all things ?
Hippias : Well, what do you suppose, Socrates ?
Socrates : Just keep quiet, my dear friend ; I am so afraid and wondering what in
the world we are saying again.
[296b] Hippias : What are you afraid of again, Socrates, since now your discussion
has gone ahead most beautifully ?
Socrates : I wish that might be the case ; but consider this point with me : could a
person do what he did not know how and was utterly powerless to do ?
Hippias : By no means ; for how could he do what he was powerless to do ?
Socrates : Then those who commit errors and accomplish and do bad things
involuntarily, if they were powerless to do those things, would not do them ?
[296c] Hippias : Evidently not.
Socrates : But yet it is by power that those are powerful who are powerful for
surely it is not by powerlessness.
Hippias : Certainly not.
Socrates : And all who do, have power to do what they do ?
Hippias : Yes.
Socrates : Men do many more bad things than good, from childhood up, and
commit many errors involuntarily.
Hippias : That is true.
Socrates : Well, then, this power and these useful things, which are useful for
accomplishing something bad — shall we say that they are beautiful, or far from
it ?
[296d] Hippias : Far from it, in my opinion, Socrates.
Socrates : Then, Hippias, the powerful and the useful are not, as it seems, our
beautiful.
Hippias : They are, Socrates, if they are powerful and useful for good.
Socrates : Then that assertion, that the powerful and useful are beautiful without
qualification, is gone ; but was this, Hippias, what our soul wished to say, that the
useful and the powerful for doing something good is the beautiful ?
[296e] Hippias : Yes, in my opinion.
Socrates : But surely this is beneficial ; or is it not ?
Hippias : Certainly.
Socrates : So by this argument the beautiful persons and beautiful customs and
all that we mentioned just now are beautiful because they are beneficial.
Hippias : Evidently.
Socrates : Then the beneficial seems to us to be the beautiful, Hippias.
Hippias : Yes, certainly, Socrates.
Socrates : But the beneficial is that which creates good.
Hippias : Yes, it is.
Socrates : But that which creates is nothing else than the cause ; am I right ?
Hippias : It is so.
Socrates : Then the beautiful is the cause of the good.
[297a] Hippias : Yes, it is.
Socrates : But surely, Hippias, the cause and that of which the cause is the cause
are different ; for the cause could not well be the cause of the cause. But look at it
in this way was not the cause seen to be creating ?
Hippias : Yes, certainly.
Socrates : By that which creates, then, only that is created which comes into
being, but not that which creates. Is not that true ?
Hippias : That is true.
Socrates : The cause, then, is not the cause of the cause, but of that which comes
into being through it.
[297b] Hippias : Certainly.
Socrates : If, then, the beautiful is the cause of good, the good would come into
being through the beautiful ; and this is why we are eager for wisdom and all the
other beautiful things, because their offspring, the good, is worthy of eagerness,
and, from what we are finding, it looks as if the beautiful were a sort of father of
the good.
Hippias : Certainly for what you say is well said, Socrates.
Socrates : Then is this well said, too, that the father is not the son, and the son
not father ?
[297c] Hippias : To be sure it is well said.
Socrates : And neither is the cause that which comes into being, nor is that which
comes into being the cause.
Hippias : True.
Socrates : By Zeus, my good friend, then neither is the beautiful good, nor the
good beautiful ; or does it seem to you possible, after what has been said ?
Hippias : No, by Zeus, it does not appear so to me.
Socrates : Does it please us, and should we be willing to say that the beautiful is
not good, and the good not beautiful ?
Hippias : No, by Zeus, it does not please me at all.
Socrates : Right, by Zeus, Hippias ! [297d] And it pleases me least of all the things
we have said.
Hippias : Yes, that is likely.
Socrates : Then there is a good chance that the statement that the beneficial and
the useful and the powerful to create something good are beautiful, is not, as it
appeared to be, the most beautiful of of statements, but, if that be possible, is
even more ridiculous than those first ones in which we thought the maiden was
the beautiful, and each of the various other things we spoke of before.
Hippias : That is likely.
Socrates : And Hippias, I no longer know where to turn ; I am at a loss ; but have
you anything to say ?
[297e] Hippias : Not at the moment, but, as I said just now, I am sure I shall find it
after meditation.
Socrates : But it seems to me that I am so eager to know that I cannot wait for
you while you delay ; for I believe I have just now found a way out. Just see; how
would it help us towards our goal if we were to say that that is beautiful which
makes us feel joy ; I do not mean all pleasures, but that which makes us feel joy
through hearing and sight ? [298a] For surely beautiful human beings, Hippias,
and all decorations and paintings and works of sculpture which are beautiful,
delight us when we see them ; and beautiful sounds and music in general and
speeches and stories do the same thing, so that if we were to reply to that
impudent fellow, “My excellent man, the beautiful is that which is pleasing
through hearing and sight,” don’t you think that we should put a stop to his
impudence ?
Hippias : To me, at any rate, Socrates, it seems [298b] that the nature of the
beautiful is now well stated.
Socrates : But what then ? Shall we say, Hippias, that beautiful customs and laws
are beautiful because they are pleasing through hearing and sight, or that they
have some other form of beauty ?
Hippias : Perhaps, Socrates, these things might slip past the man unnoticed.
Socrates : No, by dog, Hippias — not past the man before whom I should be
most ashamed of talking nonsense [298c] and pretending that I was talking sense
when I was not.
Hippias : What man is that ?
Socrates : Socrates, the son of Sophroniscus, who would no more permit me to
say these things carelessly without investigation than to say that I know what I do
not know.
Hippias : But certainly I also, now that you have mentioned it, think that this
about the laws is something different.
Socrates : Not too fast, Hippias ; for very likely we have fallen into the same
perplexity about the beautiful in which we were a while ago, although we think
we have found another way out.
Hippias : What do you mean by that, Socrates ?
Socrates : I will tell you what presents itself to me, if perhaps there may be some
sense in it. [298d] For perhaps these matters of laws and customs might be shown
to be not outside of the perception which we have through hearing and sight ;
but let us stick to the statement that that which is pleasing through the senses is
beautiful, without interjecting the matter of the laws. But if this man of whom I
speak, or anyone else whosoever, should ask us : “Hippias and Socrates, did you
make the distinction that in the category of the pleasing that which is pleasing in
the way you mention is beautiful, whereas you say that that which is pleasing
according to the other senses [298e] — those concerned with food and drink and
sexual love and all such things — is not beautiful ? Or do you say that such things
are not even pleasing and that there is no pleasure at all in them, nor in anything
else except sight and hearing ?” What shall we say, Hippias ?
Hippias : Certainly, by all means, Socrates, we shall say that there are very great
pleasures in the other things also.
Socrates : “Why, then,” he will say, “if they are pleasures no less than the others,
[299a] do you take from them this designation and deprive them of being
beautiful ?” “Because,” we shall say, “everybody would laugh at us if we should
say that eating is not pleasant but is beautiful, and that a pleasant odor is not
pleasant but is beautiful ; and as to the act of sexual love, we should all, no
doubt, contend that it is most pleasant, but that one must, if he perform it, do it
so that no one else shall see, because it is most repulsive to see.” If we say this,
Hippias, “I too understand,” he will perhaps say, “that you have all along been
ashamed to say that these pleasures are beautiful, [299b] because they do not
seem so to people ; but that is not what I asked, what seems to most people to
be beautiful, but what is so.” We shall, then, I fancy, say, as we suggested, “We
say that that part of the pleasant which comes by sight and hearing is beautiful.”
Do you think the statement is of any use, Hippias, or shall we say something
else ?
Hippias : Inevitably, in view of what has been said, Socrates, we must say just
that.
Socrates : “Excellent !” he will say. [299c] “Then if that which is pleasant through
sight and hearing is beautiful, that among pleasant things which does not
happen to be of that sort would evidently not be beautiful ?” Shall we agree ?
Hippias : Yes.
Socrates : “Is, then, that which is pleasant through sight,” he will say, “pleasant
through sight and hearing, or is that which is pleasant through hearing pleasant
through hearing and sight ?” “No,” we shall say, “that which is pleasant through
each of these would not in the least be pleasant through both — for that is what
you appear to us to mean — but we said [299d] that either of these pleasant
things would be beautiful alone by itself, and both together.” Is not that the reply
we shall make ?
Hippias : Certainly.
Socrates : “Does, then,” he will say, “any pleasant thing whatsoever differ from
any pleasant thing whatsoever by this, by being pleasant ? I ask not whether any
pleasure is greater or smaller or more or less, but whether it differs by just this
very thing, by the fact that one of the pleasures is a pleasure and the other is not
a pleasure.” “We do not think so.” Do we ?
Hippias : No, we do not.
Socrates : “Is it not,” then, he will say, “for some other reason than because they
are pleasures that you chose these pleasures out from the other pleasures [299e]
— it was because you saw some quality in both, since they have something
different from the others, in view of which you say that they are beautiful ? For
the reason why that which is pleasant through sight is beautiful, is not, I imagine,
because it is through sight ; for if that were the cause of its being beautiful, the
other pleasure, that through hearing, would not be beautiful ; it certainly is not
pleasure through sight.” Shall we say “What you say is true” ?
Hippias : Yes, we shall.
[300a] Socrates : “Nor, again, is the pleasure through hearing beautiful for the
reason that it is through hearing; for in that case, again, the pleasure through
sight would not be beautiful ; it certainly is not pleasure through hearing.” Shall
we say, Hippias, that the man who says that speaks the truth ?
Hippias : Yes, he speaks the truth.
Socrates : “But yet both are beautiful, as you say.” We do say that, do we not ?
Hippias : We do.
Socrates : “They have, then, something identical which makes them to be
beautiful, this common quality which pertains to both of them in common and to
each individually ; [300b] for otherwise they would not both collectively and each
individually be beautiful.” Answer me, as if you were answering him.
Hippias : I answer, and I think it is as you say.
Socrates : If, then, these pleasures are both affected in any way collectively, but
each individually is not so affected, it is not by this affection that they would be
beautiful.
Hippias : And how could that be, Socrates, when neither of them individually is
affected by some affection or other, that then both are affected by that affection
by which neither is affected ?
[300c] Socrates : You think it cannot be ?
Hippias : I should have to be very inexperienced both in the nature of these
things and in the language of our present discussion.
Socrates : Very pretty, Hippias. But there is a chance that I think I see a case of
that kind which you say is impossible, but do not really see it.
Hippias : There’s no chance about it, Socrates, but you quite purposely see
wrongly.
Socrates : And certainly many such cases appear before my mind, but I mistrust
them because they do not appear to you, [300d] a man who has made more
money by wisdom than anyone now living, but to me who never made any
money at all ; and the thought disturbs me that you are playing with me and
purposely deceiving me, they appear to me in such numbers and with such force.
Hippias : Nobody, Socrates, will know better than you whether I am playing with
you or not, if you proceed to tell these things that appear to you ; for it will be
apparent to you that you are talking nonsense. For you will never find that you
and I are both affected by an affection by which neither of us is affected.
[300e] Socrates : What are you saying, Hippias ? Perhaps you are talking sense,
and I fail to understand ; but let me tell more clearly what I wish to say. For it
appears to me that it is possible for us both to be so affected as to be something
which I am not so affected as to be, and which I am not and you are not either ;
and again for neither of us to be so affected as to be other things which we both
are.
Hippias : Your reply, Socrates, seems to involve miracles again even greater than
those of your previous reply. For consider : if we are both just, [301a] would not
each of us be just also, and if each is unjust, would not both again also be unjust,
or if both are healthy, each of us also ? Or if each of us were to be tired or
wounded or struck or affected in any other way whatsoever, should we not both
of us be affected in the same way ? Then, too, if we were to be golden or of silver
or of ivory, or, if you please, noble or wise or honored or old or young or
whatever else you like of all that flesh is heir to, is it not quite inevitable that each
of us be that also ?
[301b] Socrates : Absolutely.
Hippias : But you see, Socrates, you do not consider the entirety of things, nor
do they with whom you are in the habit of conversing, but you all test the
beautiful and each individual entity by taking them separately and cutting them
to pieces. For this reason you fail to observe that embodiments of reality are by
nature so great and undivided. And now you have failed to observe to such a
degree that you think there is some affection or reality which pertains to both of
these together, [301c] but not to each individually, or again to each, but not to
both ; so unreasoning and undiscerning and foolish and unreflecting is your state
of mind.
Socrates : Human affairs, Hippias, are not what a man wishes, but what he can, as
the proverb goes which people are constantly citing; but you are always aiding us
with admonitions. For now too, until we were admonished by you of our foolish
state of mind — shall I continue to speak and make you a still further exhibition
of our thoughts on the subject, or shall I not speak ?
[301d] Hippias : You will speak to one who knows, Socrates, for I know the state
of mind of all who are concerned with discussions ; but nevertheless, if you
prefer, speak.
Socrates : Well, I do prefer. For we, my friend, were so stupid, before you spoke,
as to have an opinion concerning you and me, that each of us was one, but that
we were not both that which each of us was — for we are not one, but two [301e]
— so foolish were we. But now we have been taught by you that if we are both
two, then each of us is inevitably two, and if each is one, then both are inevitably
one ; for it is impossible, by the continuous doctrine of reality according to
Hippias, that it be otherwise, but what we both are, that each is, and what each is,
both are. So now I have been convinced by you, and I hold this position. But first,
Hippias, refresh my memory : Are you and I one, or are you two and I two ?
Hippias : What do you mean, Socrates ?
Socrates : Just what I say; for I am afraid to speak plainly to you, because you are
vexed with me, when you think you are talking sensibly ; [302a] however, tell me
further : is not each of us one and affected in such a way as to be one ?
Hippias : Certainly.
Socrates : Then each of us, if one, would be an odd number ; or do you not
consider one an odd number ?
Hippias : I do.
Socrates : Then are we both an odd number, being two ?
Hippias : That could not be, Socrates.
Socrates : But we are both an even number, are we not ?
Hippias : Certainly.
Socrates : Then because we are both even, is each of us on that account even ?
Hippias : No, surely not.
[302b] Socrates : Then it is not absolutely inevitable, as you said just now, that
what both are, each is, and what each is, both are.
Hippias : Not things of this sort, but such as I mentioned before.
Socrates : That suffices, Hippias ; for even this is welcome, since it appears that
some things are so and some are not so. For I said, if you remember the
beginning of this discussion, [302c] that pleasure through sight and through
hearing were beautiful, not by that by which each of them was so affected as to
be beautiful, but not both, nor both but not each, but by that by which both and
each were so affected, because you conceded that both and each were beautiful.
For this reason I thought that if both are beautiful they must be beautiful by that
essence which belongs to both, but not by that which is lacking in each ; and I
still think so. But tell me, as in the beginning : If pleasure through sight and
pleasure through hearing are both and each beautiful, [302d] does not that which
makes them beautiful belong to both and to each ?
Hippias : Certainly.
Socrates : Is it, then, for this reason, because each is a pleasure and both are
pleasures, that they would be beautiful ? Or would all other pleasures be for this
reason no less beautiful than they ? For we saw, if you remember, that they were
no less pleasures.
Hippias : Yes, I remember.
Socrates : But for this reason, because these pleasures were through sight and
hearing, it was said that they are beautiful.
[302e] Hippias : Yes, that is what was said.
Socrates : See if what I say is true. For it was said, if my memory serves me, that
this “pleasant” was beautiful, not all “pleasant,” but that which is through sight
and hearing.
Hippias : True.
Socrates : Now this quality belongs to both, but not to each, does it not ? For
surely each of them, as was said before, is not through both senses, but both are
through both, and each is not. Is that true ?
Hippias : It is.
Socrates : Then it is not by that which does not belong to each that each of them
is beautiful ; for “both” does not belong to each ; so that it is possible, according
to our hypothesis, to say that they both are beautiful, but not to say that each is
so ; [303a] or what shall we say ? Is that not inevitable ?
Hippias : It appears so.
Socrates : Shall we say, then, that both are beautiful, but that each is not ?
Hippias : What is to prevent ?
Socrates : This seems to me, my friend, to prevent, that there were some
attributes thus belonging to individual things, which belonged, we thought, to
each, if they belonged to both, and to both, if they belonged to each — I mean
all those attributes which you specified. Am I right ?
Hippias : Yes.
Socrates : But those again which I specified did not; and among those were
precisely “each” and “both”. Is that so ?
Hippias : It is.
[303b] Socrates : To which group, then, Hippias, does the beautiful seem to you
to belong ? To the group of those that you mentioned ? If I am strong and you
also, are we both collectively strong, and if I am just and you also, are we both
collectively just, and if both collectively, then each individually so, too, if I am
beautiful and you also, are we both collectively beautiful, and if both collectively,
then each individually ? Or is there nothing to prevent this, as in the case that
when given things are both collectively even, they may perhaps individually be
odd, or perhaps even, and again, when things are individually irrational quantities
they may perhaps both collectively be rational, or perhaps irrational, [303c] and
countless other cases which, you know, I said appeared before my mind ? To
which group do you assign the beautiful ? Or have you the same view about it as
I ? For to me it seems great foolishness that we collectively are beautiful, but each
of us is not so, or that each of us is so, but both are not, or anything else of that
sort. Do you choose in this way, as I do, or in some other way ?
Hippias : In this way, Socrates.
Socrates : You choose well, Hippias, that we may be free from the need of further
search ; [303d] for if the beautiful is in this group, that which is pleasing through
sight and hearing would no longer be the beautiful. For the expression through
sight and hearing makes both collectively beautiful, but not each individually ;
and this was impossible, as you and I agree.
Hippias : Yes, we agree.
Socrates : It is, then, impossible that the pleasant through sight and hearing be
the beautiful, since in becoming beautiful it offers an impossibility.
Hippias : That is true.
Socrates : “Then tell us again,” he will say, “from the beginning, [303e] since you
failed this time ; what do you say that this ‘beautiful’, belonging to both the
pleasures, is, on account of which you honored them before the rest and called
them beautiful ?” It seems to me, Hippias, inevitable that we say that these are
the most harmless and the best of pleasures, both of them collectively and each
of them individually ; or have you anything else to suggest, by which they excel
the rest ?
Hippias : Not at all ; for really they are the best.
Socrates : “This, then,” he will say, “you say is the beautiful, beneficial pleasure ?”
“It seems that we do,” I shall say ; and you ?
Hippias : I also.
Socrates : “Well, then,” he will say, “beneficial is that which creates the good, but
that which creates and that which is created were just now seen to be different,
and our argument has come round to the earlier argument, has it not ? For
neither could the good be beautiful nor the beautiful good, [304a] if each of them
is different from the other.” “Absolutely true,” we shall say, if we are reasonable ;
for it is inadmissible to disagree with him who says what is right.
Hippias : But now, Socrates, what do you think all this amounts to ? It is mere
scrapings and shavings of discourse, as I said a while ago, divided into bits ; but
that other ability is beautiful and of great worth, the ability to produce a
discourse well and beautifully in a court of law or a council-house or before any
other public body before which the discourse may be delivered, [304b] to
convince the audience and to carry off, not the smallest, but the greatest of
prizes, the salvation of oneself, one’s property, and one’s friends. For these things,
therefore, one must strive, renouncing these petty arguments, that one may not,
by busying oneself, as at present, with mere talk and nonsense, appear to be a
fool.
Socrates : My dear Hippias, you are blessed because you know the things a man
ought to practise, and have, as you say, practised them satisfactorily. But I, as it
seems, am possessed by some accursed fortune, [304c] so that I am always
wandering and perplexed, and, exhibiting my perplexity to you wise men, am in
turn reviled by you in speech whenever I exhibit it. For you say of me, what you
are now saying, that I busy myself with silly little matters of no account ; but when
in turn I am convinced by you and say what you say, that it is by far the best thing
to be able to produce a discourse well and beautifully and gain one’s end in a
court of law or in any other assemblage, [304d] I am called everything that is bad
by some other men here and especially by that man who is continually refuting
me ; for he is a very near relative of mine and lives in the same house. So
whenever I go home to my own house, and he hears me saying these things, he
asks me if I am not ashamed that I have the face to talk about beautiful practices,
when it is so plainly shown, to my confusion, that I do not even know what the
beautiful itself is. “And yet how are you to know,” he will say, “either who
produced a discourse, [304e] or anything else whatsoever, beautifully, or not,
when you are ignorant of the beautiful ? And when you are in such a condition,
do you think it is better for you to be alive than dead ?” So it has come about, as I
say, that I am abused and reviled by you and by him. But perhaps it is necessary
to endure all this, for it is quite reasonable that I might be benefited by it. So I
think, Hippias, that I have been benefited by conversation with both of you ; for I
think I know the meaning of the proverb “beautiful things are difficult”.

VII
HIPPARCHUS

HIPPARCHUS
Persons of the Dialogue :
SOCRATES, A Friend.
[225a] Socrates : And what is love of gain ? What can it be, and who are the
lovers of gain ?
Friend : In my opinion, they are those who think it worth while to make gain out
of things of no worth.
Socrates : Is it your opinion that they know those things to be of no worth, or do
not know ? For if they do not know, you mean that the lovers of gain are fools.
Friend : No, I do not mean they are fools, but rascals who wickedly yield to gain,
because they know that the things out of which they dare to make their gain are
worthless, [225b] and yet they dare to be lovers of gain from mere shamelessness.
Socrates : Well now, do you mean by the lover of gain such a man, for instance,
as a farmer who plants something which he knows is a worthless herb, and thinks
fit to make gain out of it when he has reared it up ? Is that the sort of man you
mean ?
Friend : The lover of gain, as such, Socrates, thinks he ought to make gain from
everything.
Socrates : Please do not speak so recklessly, as though you had been wronged
by someone, [225c] but give me your attention and answer just as you would if I
were beginning my questions over again. Do you not admit that the lover of gain
has knowledge of the worth of the thing from which he thinks it worth while to
make gain ?
Friend : I do.
Socrates : Then who has knowledge of the worth of plants, and of the sort of
season and soil in which they are worth planting — if we too may throw in one of
those artful phrases which adroit pleaders use to trick out their speeches in the
law courts ?
[225d] Friend : For my part, I should say a farmer.
Socrates : And by “think it worth while to make gain” do you mean aught but
“thinking one ought to make gain” ?
Friend : I mean that.
Socrates : Then do not attempt to deceive me, who am now quite an elderly
person, [226a] and you so young, by making, as you did just now, an answer that
is not even your own thought ; but tell me in all truth, do you suppose that any
man who was taking up farming and who knew it was a worthless plant that he
was planting, could think to make gain from it ?
Friend : Upon my word, I do not.
Socrates : Or again, take a horseman who knows that he is providing worthless
food for his horse ; do you suppose he is unaware that he is destroying his
horse ?
Friend : I do not.
[226b] Socrates : So he does not think to make gain from that worthless food.
Friend : No.
Socrates : Or again, take a navigator who has furnished his ship with worthless
spars and ropes ; do you think he is unaware that he will suffer for it, and will be
in danger of being lost himself, and of losing the ship and all her cargo ?
Friend : I do not.
Socrates : So he does not think to make gain from [226c] that worthless tackle ?
Friend : No, indeed.
Socrates : But does a general, who knows that his army has worthless arms, think
to make gain, or think it worth while to make gain, from them ?
Friend : By no means.
Socrates : Or does a flute-player who has worthless flutes, or a harper with a lyre,
a bowman with a bow, or anyone else at all, in short, among ordinary craftsmen
or sensible men in general, with any implement or other equipment of any sort
that is worthless, think to make gain from it ?
[226d] Friend : To all appearance, no.
Socrates : Then whoever can they be, your lovers of gain ? For I presume they are
not the people whom we have successively mentioned, but people who know
their worthless things, and yet think they are to make gain from them. But in that
case, by what you say, remarkable sir, no man alive is a lover of gain
Friend : Well, Socrates, I should like to call those lovers of gain who from
insatiable greed consumedly long for things that are even quite petty and of little
or no worth, [226e] and so love gain, in each case.
Socrates : Not knowing, of course, my excellent friend, that the things are
worthless ; for we have already convinced ourselves by our argument that this is
impossible.
Friend : I agree.
Socrates : And if not knowing this, clearly they are ignorant of it, but think that
those worthless things are worth a great deal.
Friend : Apparently.
Socrates : Now, of course lovers of gain must love gain ?
Friend : Yes.
Socrates : And by gain you mean the opposite of loss ?
[227a] Friend : I do.
Socrates : And is it a good thing for anyone to suffer loss ?
Friend : For no one.
Socrates : Rather an evil ?
Friend : Yes.
Socrates : So mankind are harmed by loss.
Friend : They are harmed.
Socrates : Then loss is an evil.
Friend : Yes.
Socrates : And gain is the opposite of loss.
Friend : The opposite.
Socrates : So that gain is a good.
Friend : Yes.
Socrates : Hence it is those who love the good that you call lovers of gain.
Friend : So it seems.
[227b] Socrates : At least there is nothing mad, my friend, about lovers of gain, as
you describe them. But tell me, do you yourself love, or not love, whatever is
good ?
Friend : I love it.
Socrates : And is there anything good that you do not love, or must it then be
evil ?
Friend : Upon my word, nothing.
Socrates : In fact, I expect you love all good things.
Friend : Yes.
Socrates : Well now, ask me on my side whether I do not likewise : for I shall
agree with you, for my part, that I love good things. But besides you and me, do
you not think that all the rest of mankind [227c] love good things, and hate evil
things ?
Friend : It appears so to me.
Socrates : And we admitted that gain is good ?
Friend : Yes.
Socrates : On this new showing, everyone appears to be a lover of gain ;
whereas, by our former way of arguing, no one was a lover of gain. So on which
of the two arguments are we to rely, in order to avoid error ?
Friend : What has to be done, I think, Socrates, is to conceive the lover of gain
rightly. The right view of the lover of gain is that he is one who concerns himself
with, [227d] and thinks fit to make gain from, things from which honest men do
not dare to make gain.
Socrates : But you see, my sweet sir, we have just admitted that making gain is
being benefited.
Friend : Well, what of that ?
Socrates : There is the further point we have admitted in addition to this — that
all men wish for good things always.
Friend : Yes.
Socrates : Then good men likewise wish to have all gains, if these are good
things.
[227e] Friend : Not those gains from which they are bound, Socrates, to suffer
harm.
Socrates : By “suffer harm” do you mean “suffer loss,” or something else ?
Friend : No, I mean just “suffer loss.”
Socrates : Well, do men suffer loss from gain or from loss ?
Friend : From both ; for they suffer loss from loss and from wicked gain.
Socrates : Pray now, do you consider that any useful and good thing is wicked ?
Friend : I do not.
[228a] Socrates : And we admitted a little while ago that gain is the opposite of
loss, which is an evil.
Friend : I agree.
Socrates : And that, being the opposite of an evil, it is good ?
Friend : That was our admission.
Socrates : So you see, you are attempting to deceive me, for you deliberately
contradict what we agreed to just now.
Friend : No, on my honor, Socrates ; on the contrary, it is you who are deceiving
me, by twisting this way and that so perplexingly in your talk.
[228b] Socrates : Hush, hush ! Why, surely it would be wrong of me not to obey a
good and wise person.
Friend : Who is that ? And to what are you referring now ?
Socrates : I mean my and your fellow-citizen, Pisistratus’s son Hipparchus, of
Philaidae, who was the eldest and wisest of Pisistratus’s sons, and who, among
the many goodly proofs of wisdom that he showed, first brought the poems of
Homer into this country of ours, and compelled the rhapsodes at the
Panathenaea to recite them in relay, one man following on another, as [228c] they
still do now. He dispatched a fifty-oared galley for Anacreon of Teos, and brought
him into our city. Simonides of Ceos he always had about him, prevailing on him
by plenteous fees and gifts. All this he did from a wish to educate the citizens, in
order that he might have subjects of the highest excellence ; for he thought it not
right to grudge wisdom to any, so noble and good was he. And when his people
in the city had been educated and were admiring him for his wisdom, [228d] he
proceeded next, with the design of educating those of the countryside, to set up
figures of Hermes for them along the roads in the midst of the city and every
district town ; and then, after selecting from his own wise lore, both learnt from
others and discovered for himself, the things that he considered the wisest, he
threw these into elegiac form and inscribed them on the figures as verses of his
own and testimonies of his wisdom, so that in the first place [228e] his people
should not admire those wise Delphic legends of “Know thyself” and “Nothing
overmuch”, and the other sayings of the sort, but should rather regard as wise
the utterances of Hipparchus ; and that in the second place, through passing up
and down and reading his words and acquiring a taste for his wisdom, they might
resort hither from the country for the completion of their education. There are
two such inscriptions of his : on the left side [229a] of each Hermes there is one in
which the god says that he stands in the midst of the city or the township, while
on the right side he says :
The memorial of Hipparchus : walk with just intent.
There are many other fine inscriptions from his poems on other figures of
Hermes, and this one in particular, on the Steiria road, in which he says : [229b]
The memorial of Hipparchus : deceive not a friend.
I therefore should never dare, I am sure, to deceive you, who are my friend, or
disobey the great Hipparchus, after whose death the Athenians were for three
years under the despotic rule of his brother Hippias, and you might have heard
anyone of the earlier period say that it was only in these years that there was
despotism in Athens, and that at all other times the Athenians lived very much as
in the reign of Cronos. And the subtler sort of people say [229c] that Hipparchus’s
death was due, not to the cause supposed by most — the disqualification of the
assassin’s sister from bearing the basket, for that is a silly motive — but because
Harmodius had become the favorite of Aristogeiton and had been educated by
him. Thus Aristogeiton also prided himself on educating people, and he regarded
Hipparchus as a dangerous rival. And at that time, it is said, Harmodius [229d]
happened to be himself in love with one of the handsome and well-born youths
of the day ; they do tell his name, but I cannot remember it. Well, for a while this
youth admired both Harmodius and Aristogeiton as wise men, but afterwards,
when he associated with Hipparchus, he despised them, and they were so
overcome with the pain of this “disqualification” that they slew Hipparchus.
Friend : It would seem, then, Socrates, either that you do not regard me as your
friend, or if you do, that you do not obey Hipparchus. [229e] For that you are not
deceiving me — though I cannot tell how you contrive it — in your talk, is more
than I can believe.
Socrates : Well now, as though we were playing draughts, I am willing to let you
revoke, as you please, anything you have said in carrying on the discussion, in
order that you may not think you are being deceived. So tell me, shall I revoke for
you the statement that all men desire good things ?
Friend : No, thank you.
Socrates : Well, that suffering loss, or loss, is an evil ?
Friend : No, thank you.
Socrates : Well, that gain, or making gain, is the opposite of loss, or suffering
loss ?
[230a] Friend : Nor that either.
Socrates : Well, that making gain, as the opposite of evil, is a good ?
Friend : Nothing of all this do I bid you revoke for me.
Socrates : You think, then, it seems, that some gain is good, and some evil.
Friend : I do.
Socrates : Well then, I revoke so much for you ; so let us assume that some gain
is good, and some other gain evil. But the good sort is no more gain than the evil
sort, is it ?
Friend : What do you mean by this question ?
Socrates : I will explain. Is there both good and evil food ?
[230b] Friend : Yes.
Socrates : And is the one sort more food than the other, or are they both
similarly this same thing, food, and in this respect does the one differ no wise
from the other, in being food, but only in the fact of the one being good and the
other evil ?
Friend : Yes.
Socrates : And so with drink and every other class of things that exist, when
some things in any class come to be good, and others evil, one thing does not
differ from another in that respect whereby they are the same ? For instance,
[230c] one man, I suppose, is virtuous, and another wicked.
Friend : Yes.
Socrates : But neither of them, I conceive, is more or less man than the other —
neither the virtuous than the wicked, nor the wicked than the virtuous.
Friend : What you say is true.
Socrates : Then are we to take the same view of gain also, that both the wicked
and the virtuous sort are similarly gain ?
Friend : Necessarily.
Socrates : So he who has virtuous gain is no whit the more a gainer than he who
has wicked gain : neither sort [230d] is found to be more gain, as we agree.
Friend : Yes.
Socrates : For neither of them has addition of either more or less.
Friend : No, indeed.
Socrates : And how could one do or suffer anything more or less with a thing of
this sort, that had neither of these additions ?
Friend : Impossible.
Socrates : Since, therefore, both of these are gains and gain-making affairs, we
must now consider what it can be that leads you to call both of them gain : [230e]
what is it that you see to be the same in both ? Suppose you were to ask me, in
those instances that I gave just now, what it is that leads me to call both good
food and evil food alike food, I should tell you — for this reason, because both
are a dry sustenance of the body. For that, I am sure you would agree, is what
food is, would you not ?
Friend : I would.
Socrates : And so too about drink the answer would be on the same lines, that
the wet sustenance of the body, [231a] whether it be wholesome or pernicious,
has this name of drink ; and likewise with the rest. Try therefore on your part to
imitate my method of answering. When you say that virtuous gain and wicked
gain are both gain, what is it that you see to be the same in them, judging it to
be the actual element of gain ? And if again you are yourself unable to answer,
just let me put it for your consideration, whether you describe as gain every
acquisition that one has acquired either with no expense, or as a profit over and
above one’s expense.
[231b] Friend : I believe that is what I call gain.
Socrates : Do you include a case where, after enjoying a banquet at which one
has had much good cheer without any expense, one acquires an illness ?
Friend : Upon my word, not I.
Socrates : And if one acquired health from attending a banquet, would one
acquire gain or loss ?
Friend : Gain.
Socrates : Hence gain is not just acquiring any acquisition.
Friend : No, indeed.
Socrates : Do you mean, not if it is evil ? Or will one acquire no gain even if one
acquires something good ?
Friend : Apparently one will, if it is good.
[231c] Socrates : And if it is evil, will not one acquire loss ?
Friend : I think so.
Socrates : You see, then, how you are running round again to the same old
point ? Gain is found to be good, and loss evil.
Friend : For my part, I cannot tell what to say.
Socrates : And not without good reason, sir. Now answer this further question :
you say that if one acquires more than the amount one has spent, it is gain ?
Friend : I do not mean, when it is evil, but if one gets more gold or silver than
one has spent.
Socrates : Now, I am just going to ask you about that. Tell me, [231d] if one
spends half a pound of gold and gets double that weight in silver, has one got
gain or loss ?
Friend : Loss, I presume, Socrates for one’s gold is reduced to twice, instead of
twelve times, the value of silver.
Socrates : But you see, one has got more ; or is double not more than half ?
Friend : Not in worth, the one being silver and the other gold.
Socrates : So gain, it seems, must have this addition of worth. At least, you now
say that silver, though more than gold, is not worth as much, and that gold,
though less, is of equal worth.
[231e] Friend : Assuredly, for that is the case.
Socrates : Then the valuable is what produces gain, whether it be small or great,
and the valueless produces no gain.
Friend : Yes.
Socrates : And by the valuable you mean simply, valuable to possess ?
Friend : Yes, to possess.
Socrates : And again, by what is valuable to possess, do you mean the
unprofitable or the profitable ?
Friend : The profitable, I presume.
Socrates : And the profitable is good ?
Friend : Yes.
[232a] Socrates : And so, most valiant of men, have we not here once more, for
the third or fourth time, the admission that what produces gain is good ?
Friend : So it seems.
Socrates : Then do you remember the point from which this discussion of ours
arose ?
Friend : I think I do.
Socrates : In case you do not, I will remind you. You maintained against me that
good men do not wish to make all sorts of gain, but only those gains that are
good, and not those that are wicked.
Friend : Yes.
[232b] Socrates : And now the argument has compelled us to acknowledge that
all gains, both small and great, are good ?
Friend : Yes, it has compelled me, at least, Socrates, rather than persuaded me.
Socrates : Well, later on, perhaps, it might also persuade you. Now, however,
whether you are persuaded or whatever is your feeling, you at least agree with
me that all gains are good, both small and great ones.
Friend : Yes, I do admit it.
Socrates : And you admit that virtuous men all wish for all good things, do you
not ?
Friend : I do.
[232c] Socrates : But, you know, you stated yourself that wicked men love both
small and great gains.
Friend : I did.
Socrates : And so, by your account, all men will be lovers of gain, whether they
be virtuous or wicked.
Friend : Apparently.
Socrates : Hence it is not right to reproach anybody with being a lover of gain :
for he who makes this reproach is actually such an one himself.

IIIX
THEAGES

THEAGES
Persons of the Dialogue :
DEMODOCUS, SOCR ATES, THEAGES.
[121a] Demodocus : Socrates, I was wanting to have some private talk with you, if
you had time to spare ; even if there is some demand, which is not particularly
important, on your time, do spare some, nevertheless, for me.
Socrates : Why, in any case I happen to have time to spare, and for you,
moreover, I have plenty. Well, you are free to say whatever you wish.
Demodocus : Then do you mind if we step aside here from the street into the
portico of Zeus the Liberator ?
Socrates : As you think best.
[121b] Demodocus : Let us go, then. Socrates, it would seem that all growths
follow the same course, both those that grow from the earth, and the animals,
including man. In regard to the plants, as you know, we who cultivate the earth
find it the easiest part of our work to make all our preparations that are needed
before planting, and to do the planting itself ; but when the plant begins to grow,
thenceforward we have a great deal of difficult and vexatious business in tending
the new growth. [121c] Such, it seems, is also the case in regard to men : I take my
own concerns as evidence for judging of the rest. For indeed I have found the
planting, or the procreation — whichever one ought to call it — of this son of
mine the easiest thing in the world ; but his upbringing has been vexatious and a
constant source of alarm, so great are my fears for him. Among the many
instances that I could mention, the desire which occupies him at the moment is a
thing that especially alarms me : for it is not an ill-bred desire, but a dangerous
one, since here we have him, Socrates, as he says, desiring to become wise. [121d]
My opinion is that some of his fellow-townsmen, about his own age, who pay
visits to the city, excite him with accounts of certain discussions they have heard
there ; and in his envy of these he has long been pestering me with the demand
that I should take due thought for his needs, and pay fees to some sophist or
other who will make him wise. Now I do not mind so much about the fees, but I
believe he is running into no slight danger [122a] where he is hastening. I did for
a time restrain him with good advice ; but since I am no longer able to do so, I
believe my best course is to comply with his request, in order that he may not
resort, perchance, behind my back to somebody who will corrupt him. So I have
come now on this very business of placing this youth with one of these sophists,
or purveyors of wisdom, as they are held to be. It is a happy chance, therefore,
that has thrown you in our way, as I should be particularly glad, with this plan of
action in my mind, to ask your advice. Come, if you have any advice to give [122b]
on what you have heard from me, you not only may, but should, give it.
Socrates : Well, you know, Demodocus, they do say that advice is a holy thing.
And so, if ever it is to be accounted holy, it must be in this instance, in which you
now seek it. For there is no more divine matter on which a mortal could take
counsel than the education either [122c] of himself or of his relations. Now, first of
all, let you and me come to an agreement as to what we suppose that this thing
can be, on which we are taking counsel ; for it may happen that I conceive it to be
one thing, and you another, and then when we have proceeded some little way in
our conference, we may perceive how ridiculous we are, I the adviser and you the
advised, in having no common ground in our notions.
Demodocus : Why, I think you are right there, Socrates, and we should do as you
suggest.
Socrates : Yes, I am right, but yet not entirely, because I have a slight change to
make. For it occurs to me that [122d] this youngster may not be desiring the thing
that we suppose him to desire, but something else, and there again we may be
still more absurdly taking counsel on some other thing. Hence our most proper
course, it seems to me, is to begin with the youth himself, and inquire of him
what it actually is that he desires.
Demodocus : It does rather look, in fact, as though our best way would be thus,
as you suggest.
Socrates : Then tell me, what is the young person’s goodly name : how are we to
address him ?
Demodocus : Theages is his name, Socrates.
[122e] Socrates : Goodly is the name, Demodocus, and holy-sounding, that you
have bestowed on your son. Tell me, then, Theages, do you say you desire to
become wise, and do you require your father here to find out a school of some
man who is qualified to make you wise ?
Theages : Yes.
Socrates : And which sort of man do you call wise, those who have knowledge of
such and such a thing, whatever it may be, or those who have not ?
Theages : Those who have knowledge, I say.
Socrates : Well now, has not your father taught and educated you in the subjects
which form the education of everyone else here — all the sons of noble and
honorable fathers — in letters, I mean, and harping and wrestling and the other
sorts of contest ?
[123a] Theages : Yes, he has.
Socrates : And you think you are still lacking in some knowledge which it
behoves your father to provide for you ?
Theages : I do.
Socrates : What knowledge is it ? Tell us on our side, that we may oblige you.
Theages : He knows it, as well as I, Socrates, since I have often told him ; only he
says this to you of set purpose, making as if he did not know what I desire. For he
assails me too with other statements of the same sort, and refuses to place me
with any instructor.
[123b] Socrates : Well, what you said to him before was spoken, as it were,
without witnesses ; but now you shall take me as a witness, and declare before
me what is this wisdom that you desire. Come now ; suppose you desired the
wisdom whereby men steer a ship, and I happened to put this further question to
you : Theages, what wisdom is it that you lack, when you blame your father for
refusing to place you with people who would enable you to become wise ? What
answer would you have given me ? What wisdom would you name ? The
steersman’s art, would you not ?
Theages : Yes.
[123c] Socrates : And if a desire to be wise in the wisdom whereby they steer
chariots led you to blame your father, and I asked what wisdom this was, what
would you name in reply ? The charioteer’s art, would you not ?
Theages : Yes.
Socrates : And is that which you happen to be desiring now a nameless one, or
has it a name ?
Theages : I should say it has a name.
Socrates : Now do you know it, though not its name, or do you know its name as
well ?
Theages : I know its name as well.
Socrates : Then what is it ? Tell me.
[123d] Theages : What other name, Socrates, can one give it but wisdom ?
Socrates : And the driver’s art too is wisdom ? Or do you think it is ignorance ?
Theages : I do not.
Socrates : You call it wisdom ?
Theages : Yes.
Socrates : What use do we make of it ? Is it not the art whereby we know how to
govern a team of horses ?
Theages : Yes.
Socrates : And the steersman’s art too is wisdom ?
Theages : I think so.
Socrates : Is not this the art whereby we know how to govern ships ?
Theages : Yes, it is.
Socrates : And the wisdom that you so desire, what is it ? [123e] That whereby we
know how to govern whom ?
Theages : To govern men, I imagine.
Socrates : Sick men, do you mean ?
Theages : Oh, no.
Socrates : For that is medicine, is it not ?
Theages : Yes.
Socrates : Well, that whereby we know how to govern the singers in a chorus ?
Theages : No.
Socrates : For that is music ?
Theages : To be sure.
Socrates : Well, that whereby we know how to govern men in gymnastic
training ?
Theages : No.
Socrates : For that is gymnastics ?
Theages : Yes.
Socrates : Well, to govern people who do what ? Endeavor your best to speak, as
I did to you at the beginning.
[124a] Theages : To govern the people in the city, I imagine.
Socrates : And are the sick people also in the city ?
Theages : Yes, but I mean not these only, but all the rest who are in the city
besides.
Socrates : Do I understand what art it is that you mean ? For you strike me as
meaning, not that whereby we know how to govern reapers and harvesters and
planters and sowers and threshers, for it is the farmer’s art whereby we govern
these, is it not ?
Theages : Yes.
[124b] Socrates : Nor, I suppose, do you mean that whereby we know how to
govern sawyers and borers and planers and turners, as a class together ; for is not
that carpentry ?
Theages : Yes.
Socrates : But perhaps it is that whereby we govern, not only all these, but
farmers themselves also, and carpenters, and all craftsmen and ordinary people,
whether men or women : that, perhaps, is the wisdom you mean.
Theages : That, Socrates, is what I have been intending to mean all the time.
[124c] Socrates : Then can you tell me whether Aegisthus, who slew Agamemnon
in Argos, governed all these people that you mean craftsmen and ordinary
people, both men and women, or some other persons ?
Theages : No, just those.
Socrates : Well now, did not Peleus, son of Aeacus, govern these same people in
Phthia ?
Theages : Yes.
Socrates : And have you ever heard of Periander, son of Cypselus, and how he
governed at Corinth ?
Theages : I have.
Socrates : Did he not govern these same people in his city ?
[124d] Theages : Yes.
Socrates : Or again, do you not consider that Archelaus, son of Perdiccas, who
governed recently in Macedonia, governed these same people ?
Theages : I do.
Socrates : And who do you think were governed by Hippias, son of Peisistratus,
who governed in this city ? Were they not these people ?
Theages : To be sure they were.
Socrates : Now, can you tell me what appellation is given to Bacis and Sibyl and
our native Amphilytus ?
Theages : Why, soothsayers, of course, Socrates.
[124e] Socrates : That is correct. But try to answer me in that way regarding those
others — Hippias and Periander : what appellation is given them on account of
their government ?
Theages : Despots, I suppose ; it must be that.
Socrates : And when a man desires to govern the whole of the people in his city,
he desires the same government as those did — despotism, and to be a despot ?
Theages : Apparently.
Socrates : And it is this that you say you desire ?
Theages : It seems so, from what I have said.
[125a] Socrates : You scoundrel ! So you were desiring to govern us, all the time
that you were blaming your father for not sending you to some seminary of
despots ! And you, Demodocus, are you not ashamed of having known all the
time what he is desiring, and though you could have sent him where you would
have made him an expert in the wisdom which he desires, actually grudging it to
him and refusing to send him ? But now, look here, as he has declared against
you in my presence, shall you and I consult together on the question of whose
school we shall send him to, and whose classes will help him to become a wise
despot ?
[125b] Demodocus : Yes, in faith, Socrates, let us certainly consult, as I feel this is
a matter on which no slight counsel is needed.
Socrates : By and by, my good sir. Let us first cross-examine him thoroughly.
Demodocus : Examine him then.
Socrates : Well now, what if we called in Euripides to our aid, Theages ? For you
know Euripides says :
Despots are wise by converse with the wise.
Now, if someone should ask Euripides : Euripides, in what [125c] are these men
wise, by whose converse you say that despots are wise ? I mean, suppose he had
said : “Farmers are wise by converse with the wise,” and we had asked him, —
Wise in what ? — what answer would he have given us ? Surely none other than,
— In farming.
Theages : That, and none other.
Socrates : Or again, if he had said : “Piemen are wise by converse with the wise,”
and we had asked him, Wise in what ? — what answer would he have given us ?
He would have said, — In the pie-making business, — would he not ?
Theages : Yes.
Socrates : Or again, if he had said “Wrestlers are wise by converse with the wise,”
and we had asked him, Wise in what ? — would he not reply, — [125d] In
wrestling ?
Theages : Yes.
Socrates : But as he said :
Despots are wise by converse with the wise,
and we ask him, — In what do you mean that the latter are wise, Euripides ? —
what will he reply ? What sort of subjects will he mention here ?
Theages : Why, upon my word, I for my part do not know.
Socrates : Well, do you mind if I tell you ?
Theages : If you do not mind.
Socrates : They are the same subjects that Anacreon said Callicrite understood ;
or do you not know the ode ?
Theages : I do.
Socrates : Well then, do you desire to partake in some instruction of that sort
from any man [125e] who is a fellow-craftsman of Callicrite, daughter of Cyane,
and knows all about despotism as she did, according to the poet, in order that
you may become a despot over us and our city ?
Theages : You are joking all this time, Socrates, and making fun of me.
Socrates : Why, do you not say that you desire that wisdom which will enable
you to govern all the citizens ? And in doing that, will you be anything else but a
despot ?
Theages : I should indeed pray, I imagine, that I might become a despot, [126a] if
possible, over all men, and failing that, over as many as might be ; so would you, I
imagine, and everybody else besides : nay, even more, I daresay, that I might
become a god ; but I did not say I desired that.
Socrates : Well, what on earth then is it that you do desire ? Do you not say you
desire to govern the citizens ?
Theages : Yes, but not by force, or as despots do, but with their consent, as is
done by all the other men of importance in the state.
Socrates : Do you mean, as by Themistocles and Pericles and Cimon, and by all
those who have shown themselves able statesmen ?
Theages : Yes, in good earnest, I mean those people.
[126b] Socrates : Then what if you chanced to desire to become wise in
horsemanship ? To whom would you have had to resort before expecting to be a
clever horseman ? To whom else but the horse-masters ?
Theages : To none else, I am sure.
Socrates : And moreover, you would go to the actual men who are clever at the
business, and who have horses and constantly use them in great numbers, both
their own and other people’s ?
Theages : Obviously I should.
Socrates : And what if you wished to become wise in javelin-throwing ? Would
you not expect to get this wisdom by having resorted to those javelin-masters
who have javelins and who constantly use javelins, [126c] both other people’s and
their own, in great numbers ?
Theages : I think so.
Socrates : Then pray tell me, since it is your wish to become wise in statematters,
do you expect to get your wisdom by resorting to any other persons
than those statesmen, who not only have their own ability in state-matters, but
have constant dealings with other cities besides their own, by their intercourse
alike with Greek cities and with foreign peoples ? Or do you think to get wisdom
in their business by resorting to any other persons than these particular men ?
[126d] Theages : Well, Socrates, I have heard of the argument that you are said to
put forward — that the sons of those statesmen are no better men than the sons
of shoemakers ; and in my opinion your words are very true, from what I am able
to gather. Hence I should be an utter fool if I supposed that any of these men
would impart his wisdom to me when he never was of any use to his own son, as
he would have been, if he were able to be of use in this matter to anyone at all in
the world.
Socrates : Then which way, most excellent sir, would you turn if, when you came
to have a son, he should trouble you in the same manner, [126e] and tell you he
desired to become a good painter, and should blame you, his father, for refusing
to spend money on him for that very purpose, but at the same time should
disregard the practitioners of that very thing, the painters, and decline to learn
from them ? Or the flute-players, when he wished to become a flute-player, or
the harp-players ? Would you know what to do with him, and where else you
should send him if he refused to learn from these ?
Theages : Upon my word, I should not.
[127a] Socrates : And do you now, when you are behaving in just the same way
to your father, feel surprised and blame him for being at a loss what to do with
you and where to send you ? Why, we are ready to place you with any well-bred
Athenian statesman you may choose, who will train you free of charge ; and so
not only will you be at no expense of money, but will gain far greater
commendation amongst the mass of men than if you studied with anyone else.
Theages : But then, Socrates, are not you too one of our well-bred gentlemen ?
Indeed, if you will agree to instruct me, I am content and seek no other.
[127b] Socrates : What do you mean by that, Theages ?
Demodocus : Nay, Socrates, there is nothing amiss in what he says, and you will
oblige me at the same time ; for I should count it the greatest possible stroke of
luck if he should welcome your instruction and you also should consent to
instruct him. Nay, indeed, I am quite ashamed to say how keenly I wish it ; but I
entreat you both — you, to consent to teach Theages, and you, to seek the
teaching of no one else than Socrates ; you will thus relieve me [127c] of a
harassing load of anxiety. For just now I am sorely afraid of his falling in with
some other person who is likely to corrupt him.
Theages : Have no more fears for me now, father, so long as you are able to
persuade him to receive me as his pupil.
Demodocus : Very rightly spoken. Socrates, from now onward we must address
ourselves to you ; for I am ready, in short, to place both myself and all that I hold
dearest of what is mine in your hands — whatever you may require, [127d]
absolutely — if you will open your arms to Theages here, and do him any service
that you can.
Socrates : Demodocus, your zeal is no wonder to me, if you suppose that I
especially could be of use to him ; for I know of nothing for which a sensible man
could be more zealous than for his own son’s utmost improvement. But how you
came to form this opinion, that I would be better able to be of use to your son in
his aim of becoming a good citizen than you would yourself, and how he came to
suppose that I rather than yourself would be of use to him — this does fill me
with wonder. For you, [127e] in the first place, are my elder, and further, you have
held in your time many of the highest offices in Athens, and are respected by the
people of Anagyrus above all your fellow-townsmen, and by the whole state as
much as any man, whereas neither of you can notice anything like this about me.
And moreover, if Theages here does despise the instruction of our statesmen,
and is looking for some other persons who profess to be able to educate young
people, we have here Prodicus of Ceos, Gorgias of Leontini, Polus of Acragas,
[128a] and many more, who are so wise that they go to our cities and persuade
the noblest and wealthiest of our young men — who have the choice of learning
from any citizen they choose, free of charge — they persuade them to abandon
that instruction and learn from them, with a deposit, besides, of a large sum of
money as their fee, and to feel thankful in addition. Some of these persons might
naturally have been chosen both by your son and by yourself, in preference to
me ; [128b] for I have no knowledge of those fair and beatific subjects of study : I
only wish that I had. But what I always say, you know, is that I am in the position
of knowing practically nothing except one little subject, that of love-matters. In
this subject, however, I claim to be skilled above anybody who has ever lived or is
now living in the world.
Theages : Do you see, father ? Socrates does not seem to me to be at all willing
now to spend his time on me ; for there is readiness enough on my part, [128c] if
he is willing. But he is only jesting in what he has just told us. For I know of some
of my equals in age, and some a little older, who were of no account before they
learnt from him, but after beginning to learn from him have in a very short time
proved themselves superior to all whose inferiors they were before.
Socrates : And do you know what the meaning of it is, son of Demodocus ?
Theages : Yes, on my soul, I do — that, if it be your pleasure, I too shall be able
to become such as those others are.
[128d] Socrates : No, good sir, the meaning of it escapes you ; but I will tell it you.
There is something spiritual which, by a divine dispensation, has accompanied me
from my childhood up. It is a voice that, when it occurs, always indicates to me a
prohibition of something I may be about to do, but never urges me on to
anything ; and if one of my friends consults me and the voice occurs, the same
thing happens : it prohibits, and does not allow him to act. And I will produce
witnesses to convince you of these facts. You know our Charmides here, who has
grown so handsome, the son of Glaucon : [128e] he once happened to be
consulting me on his intention of training for the Nemean races, and he had no
sooner begun to say that he intended to train than the voice occurred, and I tried
to prevent him, saying — “Just as you were speaking my spirit-voice has
occurred : no, you must not train.” “Perhaps,” said he, “it indicates to you that I
shall not win ; but even if I am not to win, at any rate the exercise I shall get in the
meantime will do me good.” So saying, he went and trained ; and so you may as
well inquire of him [129a] as to the results he got from his training. Or if you like,
ask Cleitomachus, brother of Timarchus, what Timarchus said to him when he was
going straight to the prison to meet his death, he and Euathlus the racing runner,
who had harbored Timarchus as a fugitive ; for he will tell you that the words he
spoke to him were these :
Theages : What ?
Socrates : “Cleitomachus,” he said, “I tell you I am going to my death now,
because I would not take Socrates’ advice.” Now, why on earth did Timarchus say
that ? I will tell you. When Timarchus and Philemon, [129b] son of Philemonides,
got up from the wine-party to kill Nicias, son of Heroscamandrus, those two
alone had knowledge of the plot ; and Timarchus, as he got up, said to me :
“What say you, Socrates ? Go on drinking, all of you ; I have to get up and go
somewhere, but I will join you a little later, if I get the chance.” Then occurred that
voice of mine, and I said to him : “No, no, do not get up ; for my accustomed
spiritual sign has occurred to me.” [129c] So he stopped. Then after an interval of
time he again started to go, and said : “Well, I am going, Socrates.” Again the
voice occurred, and so again I constrained him to stop. The third time, wishing to
give me the slip, he got up without saying another word to me ; he gave me the
slip by watching until my attention was turned elsewhere. Thus it was that he
went right off and committed the deed which was the cause of his going then to
his death. And hence it was that he spoke those words to his brother which I
quoted to you just now, that he was going to his death because he had not taken
my advice. [129d] And moreover, in regard to the Sicilian business, many will tell
you what I said about the destruction of the army. As to bygones, you may hear
from those who know : but there is an opportunity now of testing the worth of
what the sign says. For as the handsome Sannio was setting out on campaign, the
sign occurred to me, and he has gone now with Thrasyllus on an expedition
bound for Ephesus and Ionia. I accordingly expect him to be either killed or
brought very near it, and I have great fears for our force as a whole. [129e] Now I
have told you all this, because this spiritual power that attends me also exerts
itself to the full in my intercourse with those who spend their time with me. To
many, indeed, it is adverse, and it is not possible for these to get any good by
conversing with me, and I am therefore unable to spend my time in conversing
with them. And there are many with whom it does not prohibit my intercourse,
yet the intercourse does them no good. But those who are assisted in their
intercourse by that spiritual power are the persons whom you have noticed ; for
they make rapid progress there and then. And of these, again, who make
progress some find the benefit [130a] both solid and enduring ; while there are
many who, for as long a time as they are with me, make wonderful progress, but
when they are parted from me relapse, and are no different from anybody else.
This once befell Aristeides, son of Lysimachus, son of Aristeides. For by
conversing with me he had made immense progress in a little time ; and then he
had to go on an expedition, and he went and sailed away. On his return he found
that Thucydides, son of Melesias, son of Thucydides, had been conversing with
me. Now Thucydides, the day before, had quarrelled with me [130b] over some
arguments we had had. So when Aristeides saw me, after greeting me and talking
of other affairs, he said : “But Thucydides, I hear, Socrates, is somewhat on his
dignity with you, and is annoyed as though he were somebody.” “Yes, that is so,”
I replied. “Well, but does he not know,” he said, “what a sad slave he was, before
he associated with you ?” “It seems not,” I replied, “upon my soul.” “But indeed I
myself also,” he said, “am in a ridiculous position, [130c] Socrates.” “How exactly ?”
I asked. “Because,” he replied, “before I sailed away, I was able to discuss things
with anybody, and show myself inferior to none in argument, so that I even
sought out the debates of the most accomplished people : but now, on the
contrary, I shun them, wherever I notice there is anyone of education, so
ashamed I am of my own ineptitude.” “Tell me,” I said, “did this power forsake
you of a sudden, or little by little ?” “Little by little,” he replied. “And when it was
present with you,” I asked, [130d] “was it present through your having learnt
something from me, or in some other way ?” “I will tell you, Socrates,” he said,
“what is incredible, upon my soul, yet true. For I never yet learnt anything from
you, as you know yourself : but I made progress, whenever I was with you, if I was
merely in the same house, without being in the same room, but more progress,
when I was in the same room. And it seemed to me to be much more when I was
in the same room and looked at you as you were speaking, than when [130e] I
turned my eyes elsewhere : but my progress was far the greatest and most
marked whenever I sat beside you and held and touched you. Now, however,” he
said, “that condition has all oozed away.” Such then, Theages, is the intercourse
you would have with me : if God so wills, you will make very great and rapid
progress, but otherwise, you will not. Consider, therefore, if it is not safer for you
to be educated by one of those persons who have command themselves of the
benefit which they bestow on mankind, rather than follow the course on which
you may chance with me.
[131a] Theages : Well then, I decide, Socrates, that our plan shall be to make trial
of that spiritual sign by associating with each other. Thus, if it leaves us free, that
will be best of all ; if it does not, it will be time then for us to consider, at the
moment, what we shall do — whether we shall associate with someone else, or
try to conciliate the divine sign itself that occurs to you with prayers and sacrifices
and anything else that the seers may indicate.
Demodocus : In view of this, Socrates, say no more in opposition to the lad ; for
Theages is right in what he says.
Socrates : Well, if you consider that this is what we ought to do, let us do it.

IIX
EPINOMIS

EPINOMIS
Persons of the Dialogue :
An ATHENIAN STRANGER ;
CLEINIAS, a Cretan ; MEGILLUS, a Lacedaemonian
[973a] Cleinias : True to our agreement, good sir, we have come all three — you
and I and Megillus here — to consider in what terms we ought to describe that
part of understanding which we say produces, when it so intends, the most
excellent disposition of the human being for wisdom which is possible for man.
For we claim that we have described all the other matters [973b] connected with
law-giving ; but the most important thing for us to discover and state — what it is
that mortal man should learn in order to be wise — this we have neither stated
nor discovered. Let us, however, now try to make good this defect : else we shall
practically leave incomplete the quest on which we all set out, with the purpose
of making our subject clear from beginning to end.
Athenian : My dear Cleinias, you are quite right, yet I think you are about to hear
a strange statement ; and, in a sense, one that is not so strange either. For many
on becoming acquainted with life [973c] have the same account to give — that
the human race will not be blessed or happy. So follow me now and apprehend if
you conceive me, as well as them, to be giving a proper account of this matter. I
say it is impossible for men to be blessed and happy, except a few ; that is, so
long as we are living : I limit it to that. But one may rightly hope to attain after
death all the things for whose sake one may strive both in life to live as nobly as
one can and in death to find a noble end. What I say is [973d] no subtle doctrine,
but a thing that all of us, Greeks and foreigners alike, in some way perceive —
that from the beginning existence is difficult for every live creature : first,
partaking of the state of things conceived, then again, being born, and further,
being reared and educated — all these processes involve a vast amount of toil,
[974a] we all agree. And our time must be a short one, I do not say in the
reckoning of the wretched, but on any supposition of what is tolerable. It does
seem to give just a breathing-space about the middle of human life : yet swiftly
old age is upon us, and must make any of us loth ever to live our life again, when
one reckons over the life one has lived — unless one happens to be a bundle of
childish notions.
And what, pray, is my evidence for this ? It is that such is the nature of the matter
now under inquiry [974b] in our discussion. We are inquiring, you know, in what
way we shall become wise, presuming that each of us has this power in some sort
or other : but it evades and escapes us as soon as we attempt any knowledge of
reputed arts or knowledges or any of the ordinary sciences, as we suppose them
to be ; for none of them is worthy to be called by the title of the wisdom that
pertains to these human affairs. Yet the soul firmly believes and divines that in
some fashion she has it, [974c] but what it is that she has, or when, or how, she is
quite unable to discover. Is not this a fair picture of our puzzle about wisdom and
the inquiry that we have to make — a greater one than any of us could expect
who are found able to examine ourselves and others intelligently and consistently
by every kind and manner of argument ? Is the case not so, or shall we agree that
so it is ?
Cleinias : We shall probably agree with you on that, my good sir, [974d] in the
hope which in time you will surely give us of forming hereafter the truest opinion
on these matters.
Athenian : Then first we must go through the other sciences, which are reputed
as such, but do not render him wise who acquires and possesses them ; in order
that, having put them out of the way, we may try to bring forward those that we
require, and having brought them forward, to learn them.First, therefore, let us
observe that while the sciences which are first needs of the human race [974e] are
about the most necessary and truly the first, yet he who acquires a knowledge of
them, though in the beginning he may have been regarded as wise in some sort,
is now not reputed wise at all, but rather incurs reproach [975a] by the knowledge
he has got. Now we must mention what they are, and that almost everyone who
makes it his aim to be thought likely to prove himself in the end as good a man
as possible avoids them, in order to gain the acquirements of understanding and
study. So first let us take the practice among animate beings of eating each other,
which, as the story goes, has made us refrain entirely from some, while it has
settled us in the lawful eating of others. May the men of old time be gracious to
us, as they are : for we must take our leave of whatever men were the first of
those we were just mentioning ; but at any rate [975b] the making of barley-meal
and flour, with the sustenance thereof, is noble and good indeed, yet it is never
like to produce a perfectly wise man. For this very name of making must produce
an irksomeness in the actual things that are made. Nor can it well be husbandry
of land in general : for it is not by art but by a natural gift from Heaven, it seems,
that we all have the earth put into our hands. Nor again is it the fabrication of
dwellings and building in general, nor the production of all sorts of appliances —
smiths’ work, [975c] and the supply of carpenters’, moulders’, plaiters’, and, in fine,
all kinds of implements ; for this is of advantage to the public, but is not
accounted for virtue. Nor again the whole practice of hunting, which although
grown extensive and a matter of skilled art, gives no return of magnificence with
its wisdom. Nor surely can it be divination or interpretation as a whole ; for these
only know what is said, but have not learnt whether it be true.
And now that we see that the acquisition of necessaries [975d] is achieved by
means of art, but that no such art makes any man wise, there may be some
diversion remaining after this — imitative for the most part, but in no way
serious. For they imitate with many instruments, and with many imitative acts, not
altogether seemly, of their very bodies, in performances both of speech and of
every Muse, and in those whereof painting is mother, and whereby many and
most various designs are elaborated in many sorts, moist and dry ; and though a
man ply his craft in these with the greatest zeal, in nothing is he rendered wise by
imitation.
[975e] And when all these have been performed, there may yet remain assistance,
in countless forms and countless cases : the greatest and most useful is called
warfare, the art of generalship ; most glorified in time of need, requiring most
good fortune, and assigned rather to a natural valor than to wisdom.
[976a] And that which they call medicine is likewise, of course, an assistance in
almost every case towards things of which animal nature is deprived by seasons
of untimely cold and heat and all such visitations. But none of these is of high
repute for the truest wisdom : for they are borne along by opinion, as inaccurate
matter of conjecture. We may, I suppose, speak of pilots and sailors alike as
giving assistance : yet you shall not report, to appease us, a single wise man from
amongst them all ; for a man cannot know [976b] the wrath or amity of the wind,
a desirable thing for all piloting. Nor again all those who say they can give
assistance in law suits by their powers of speech, men who by memory and
exercise of opinion pay attention to human character, but are far astray from the
truth of what is really just.
There still remains, as a claimant to the name of wisdom, a certain strange power,
which most people would call a natural gift rather than wisdom, appearing when
one perceives someone learning this or that lesson with ease, or remembering a
great many things [976c] securely ; or when one recalls what is suitable to each
person, what should properly be done, and does it quickly. Some people will
describe all this as nature, others as wisdom, and others as a natural readiness of
mind : but no sensible person will ever call a man really wise for any of these
gifts.
But surely there must be found some science, the possession of which will cause
the wisdom of him who is really wise and not wise merely in men’s opinion. Well,
let us see : for in this laborious discussion we are trying our hardest to find some
other science, [976d] apart from those we have mentioned, which can really and
reasonably be termed wisdom ; such an acquirement as will not make one a
mean and witless drudge, but will enable one to be a wise and good citizen, at
once a just ruler and subject of his city, and decorous. So let us examine this one
first, and see what single science it is of those that we now have which, by
removing itself or being absent from human nature, must render mankind the
most thoughtless and senseless of creatures. [976e] Well, there is no great
difficulty in making that out. For if there is one more than another, so to speak,
which will do this, it is the science which gave number to the whole race of
mortals ; and I believe God rather than some chance gave it to us, and so
preserves us. And I must explain who it is that I believe to be God, though he be a
strange one, and somehow not strange either : for why should we not believe
[977a] the cause of all the good things that are ours to have been the cause also
of what is far the greatest, understanding ? And who is it that I magnify with the
name of God, Megillus and Cleinias ? Merely Heaven, which it is most our duty to
honor and pray to especially, as do all other spirits and gods. That it has been the
cause of all the other good things we have, we shall all admit ; that it likewise
gave us number we do really say, and that it will give us this hereafter, if we will
but follow its lead. [977b] For if one enters on the right theory about it, whether
one be pleased to call it World-order or Olympus or Heaven — let one call it this
or that, but follow where, in bespangling itself and turning the stars that it
contains, it produces all their courses and the seasons and food for all. And
thence, accordingly, we have understanding in general, we may say, and
therewith all number, and all other good things : but the greatest of these is
when, after receiving its gift of numbers, one has covered the whole circuit.
Moreover, let us turn back some little way in our discussion [977c] and recall how
entirely right we were in conceiving that if we should deprive human nature of
number we should never attain to any understanding. For then the soul of that
creature which could not tell things would never any more be able, one may say,
to attain virtue in general ; and the creature that did not know two and three, or
odd or even, and was completely ignorant of number, could never clearly tell of
things about which it had only acquired sensations and memories. From the
attainment of ordinary virtue — [977d] courage and temperance — it is certainly
not debarred : but if a man is deprived of true telling he can never become wise,
and he who has not the acquirement of wisdom — the greatest part of virtue as a
whole — can no more achieve the perfect goodness which may make him happy.
Thus it is absolutely necessary to postulate number ; and why this is necessary
can be shown by a still fuller argument than any that has been advanced. But
here is one that will be particularly correct — that of the properties of the other
arts, which we recounted just now in granting the existence of all the arts, [977e]
not a single one can remain, but all of them are utterly defective, when once you
remove numeration.
And one may judge, perhaps, for brevity’s sake how the human race needs
number, by glancing at the arts — and yet that too is a great matter — but if you
note the divinity of birth, and its mortality, in which awe of the divine must be
acknowledged, and real number, [978a] it is not anybody who can tell how great
is the power which we owe to the accompaniment of number as a whole — for it
is clear that everything in music needs a distinct numeration of movement and
notes — and above all, how it is the cause of all good things ; and that it is the
cause of no evil thing is a point that must be well understood, as it may be
quickly enough. Nay, the motion that we may call unreasoned and unordered,
lacking shape and rhythm and harmony, and everything that has a share of some
evil, [978b] is deficient in number altogether ; and in this light must the matter be
regarded by him who means to end his life in happiness. And no one who does
not know the just, the good, the honorable and all the rest of such qualities, with
a hold on true opinion, will number them off so as fully to persuade both himself
and his neighbor.
Now let us go on to inquire into the actual question of how we learnt to count in
numbers. Tell me, whence have we got the conception of one and two, a natural
gift that [978c] we have from the All to enable us to conceive of their existence ?
Then again, many other living creatures are not endowed by nature even to the
actual point of being able to learn from their father to count ; whereas in us, in
the first place, God implanted this very conception, so that we might be equal to
comprehending it when shown to us, and in the second place, he showed it and
shows it. Among such things, what one more singularly beautiful can a man
behold than the world of day ? Then he comes to the province of night, and
views it ; and there quite another sight [978d] lies before him. And so the heaven,
revolving these very objects for many nights and many days, never ceases to
teach men one and two, until even the most unintelligent have learnt sufficiently
to number ; for that there are also three and four and many, each of us must
further conceive on seeing those objects. And God made one thing that he
wrought from them, the moon, which shows herself at one time larger, at another
smaller, and runs her course, [978e] showing ever a new shape, until fifteen days
and nights are passed : this is her circuit, if one chooses to sum her orbit, as one
and entire, in one ; so that, we may say, even the least intelligent creature must
learn it, among those on whom God has bestowed the natural gift of being able
to learn.
Within certain limits, and in certain cases, every creature so enabled has been
made fully apt for numeration, — [979a] when it considers any unit in itself. But as
to reckoning number generally in the relations of things to each other, I think
that God, if not for a greater reason, to this end interposed, as we mentioned, the
waxing and waning of the moon, and arranged the months to make up the year,
and all things began to comprehend number in relation to number by a happy
fortune. Hence it is that we have fruits and the teeming of the earth, so that there
may be food for all creatures, with no inordinate or immoderate occurrences of
winds and rains : [979b] but if in spite of this something does occur in an evil way,
we ought not to charge it upon the divine but upon the human nature, for not
disposing our own lives aright.
Now in our inquiry about laws, you know we decided that all other things that are
best for men are easy to discover, and that everyone may become competent
both to understand and to perform what he is told, if he discovers what is that
which is likely to profit him, and what is not profitable : well, we decided, and we
are still of the same mind, that all other studies [979c] are not very difficult, but
that this of learning in what way we should become good men is one of the
utmost difficulty. Everything else, again, that is good, as they say, is both possible
and not difficult to acquire, and the amount of property that is wanted or not
wanted, and the kind of body that is wanted or not : everyone agrees that a good
soul is wanted, and agrees, moreover, as to the manner of its goodness, that for
this again it must be just and temperate and brave ; but whereas everyone says it
must be wise, no one any longer agrees at all with anyone else, in most cases —
we have just now [979d] explained — as to what its wisdom should be. So now we
are discovering, besides all those former kinds, a wisdom of no mean worth for
this very purpose of showing how he is wise who has learnt the things that we
have explained. And if he is wise who has knowledge of these things and is good
at them, we must now take account of him.
Cleinias : Good sir, how properly you said that you are undertaking to express
great thoughts on great subjects !
[979e] Athenian : Yes, for they are not small, Cleinias : but what is more difficult is
to show that they are entirely and in every sense true.
Cleinias : Very much so, good sir : but still, do not weary of the task of stating
your views.
Athenian : I will not, and therefore you two must not weary either of listening to
me.
Cleinias : Agreed : I give you my word for us both.
[980a] Athenian : Thank you. To begin with, then, we must necessarily state first,
it would seem best of all, in a single word, if we are able so to put it — what is
that which we suppose to be wisdom ; but if we are utterly unable to do this, we
must say in the second place what and how many kinds of it there are that a man
must have acquired, if he is to be wise according to our story.
Cleinias : Pray speak on.
Athenian : And as to the next step, it will be no offence in the lawgiver that he
speaks finer things than have been previously said about the gods, and uses
higher terms of portrayal, making as it were a noble sport [980b] and honoring
the gods, with high tribute of his hymns and affluence throughout the period of
his own life.
Cleinias : Well spoken, indeed, good sir. Yes, may you have this consummation of
your laws, after making fine sport in praising the gods and having passed a purer
life, to find thereby the best and fairest end !
Athenian : Then how, Cleinias, do we state it ? Do we honor the gods, think you,
to the utmost with our hymns, praying that we may be moved to speak the fairest
and best things about them ? Do you state it so, or how ?
[980c] Cleinias : Nay, absolutely so. Now, my excellent friend, pray to the gods
with confidence, and utter the fine specimen of a speech that you are moved to
make about the gods and goddesses.
Athenian : It shall be done, if the god himself will be our guide. Do but join in my
prayer.
Cleinias : Speak what follows next.
Athenian : It is necessary, then, it seems, that I should first portray in better
terms, according to our previous statement, the generation of gods and of living
creatures, which has been ill portrayed by those before us ; I must resume the
statement which I have attempted [980d] in speaking against the impious,
declaring that there are gods who have a care for all things, small and greater,
and who are well-nigh inexorable in what relates to the justice of things : that is,
if you remember, Cleinias ; for you did take memoranda besides, and indeed
what then was spoken was very true. And the most important part of it was that
every soul was senior to each body : do you remember ? Or in any case, surely,
this must be so ? For that which is better and more ancient and more godlike is
credibly so [980e] in comparison with the young, the junior, and the less
emancipated ; and altogether, a thing governing is senior to a thing governed,
and the driver every way senior to the driven. So much, then, let us conclude —
that soul is senior to body ; and if this is the case, [981a] what came first in that
which first was born will more credibly seem almost to have been original. So let
us take it that the beginning of the beginning is more august in state, and that
we are most correctly entering upon wisdom in the greatest matters relating to
the generation of the gods.
Cleinias : Let this be so, as far as we can state it.
Athenian : Come then, shall we say that a living creature is most truly described
by its nature, as a case of one combination of soul and body so uniting as to
beget one shape ?
Cleinias : Correct.
[981b] Athenian : And such a thing is most justly called a living creature ?
Cleinias : Yes.
Athenian : On the most likely account there are to be reckoned five solid bodies,
from which one might fashion things fairest and best ; but all the rest of creation
has a single shape, for there is nothing that could come to be without a body and
never possessing any color at all, except only that really most divine creature, the
soul. And this alone, one may say, has the business of fashioning and
manufacturing, [981c] whereas the body, as we call it, has that of being fashioned
and produced and seen. But the other — let us repeat it, for not once only be it
said — has to be invisible even to the inquiring, and merely thought, if he has got
a share of memory and reckoning by both odd and even variations.
The bodies, then, being five, we must name them as fire, water, and thirdly air,
earth fourth, and ether fifth ; and by predominance of these are each of the many
varieties of creatures perfected. We should learn this by single instances in the
following way. [981d] Let us take as earthy our first single element — all men, all
things that have many feet or none, and those that move along and that stay still,
held in place by roots ; but we must conceive its unity thus, though all these
things are the outcome of all kinds, yet for the most part it is of earth and of solid
nature. And another kind of creature we must regard as second in birth as well as
one that can be seen : for its greatest part is of fire, though it has some earth and
[981e] air, and has slight portions of all the others also, wherefore we must say
that all sorts of creatures are born of them, and things seen, and here again we
must conceive the heavenly kinds of creatures, which altogether, we must agree,
have been born as the divine race of stars, endowed with the fairest body as also
with the happiest and best soul. One or other of two lots we may very well, in our
judgement, assign to them : for each of them is either imperishable [982a] and
immortal, and by all necessity wholly divine, or has a certain longevity sufficient
for the life of each, such that nothing could ever require a longer one.
Let us therefore first observe that, as we state it, such creatures are of two sorts
— for let us state it again — both visible, the one of fire, as would appear,
entirely, and the other of earth ; and the earthy is in disorder, whereas that of fire
has its motion in perfect order. Now that which has motion in disorder we should
regard as unintelligent, acting [982b] like the animal creatures about us for the
most part ; but that which has an orderly and heavenly progress must be taken as
strongly evincing its intelligence. For in passing on and acting and being acted
upon always in the same respects and manner it must provide sufficient evidence
of its intelligent life. The necessity of a soul that has acquired mind will prove
itself by far the greatest of all necessities ; for it makes laws as ruler, not as ruled :
but this inalterable thing, when [982c] the soul has taken the best counsel in
accord with the best mind, comes out as the perfect thing in truth and in accord
with mind, and not even adamant could ever prove stronger than it or more
inalterable ; but in fact the three Fates have it in hold, and keep watch that what
has been decided by each of the gods with the best counsel shall be perfect. And
men ought to have found proof of the stars and the whole of that travelling
system being possessed of mind in the fact that they always do the same things
because they do what has been decided long ago for an incalculable time, [982d]
not deciding differently this way and that, and doing sometimes one thing,
sometimes another, in wanderings and changes of circuit. Most of us have
thought just the opposite — that because they do the same things in the same
way they have no soul : the multitude followed the lead of the unintelligent so far
as to suppose that, whereas humanity was intelligent and living because it moved
about, divinity was unintelligent because it abode in the same courses. But if man
had sided with the fairer and better and [982e] friendly part, he might have
concluded that he ought to regard as intelligent — and for this very reason —
that which acts always in the same respects, in the same way, and for the same
reasons ; and that this is the nature of the stars, fairest to see, and passing along,
dancing the fairest and most magnificent of all dances in the world, they make
good the needs of all living creatures.
And now, to see how justly we speak of their living spirit, [983a] let us first
consider their great size. For they are not actually those small things that they
appear to be, but each of them is immense in its bulk ; we should do well to
believe this, because there are ample proofs of such a conclusion. For we can
rightly consider the whole of the sun as larger than the whole of the earth, and all
the travelling stars are of amazing size. Let us conclude then whether it can
possibly be that any natural force revolves this great mass that is now being
revolved, continually and at the same time. [983b] God, then, I say, will be the
cause, and never in any other way is it possible. For never can a thing get living
spirit by any other means than by the act of God, as we have explained ; and
when God is able to do this, he has found it a perfectly easy matter, firstly that all
body and all mass should be made a living creature, and secondly to move it in
the course he considers best.
So now I trust we may make one true statement about all these things : it cannot
be that earth and heaven and all the [983c] stars and all the masses they
comprise, without soul attached to each or resident in each, should pass along as
they do, so exactly to every year and month and day, and that all the things that
happen should happen for the good of us all.And according as man is a meaner
creature, he should show himself, not a babbler, but a speaker of clear sense. If,
then, anyone shall speak of onrushes or natural forces or the like as in a sort the
causes of bodies, he will say nothing clear : but we must firmly recall what we
have said, and see whether [983d] our statement is reasonable or is utterly at fault
— namely, in the first place, that existence is of two kinds, the one soul, and the
other body, and that many things are in either, though all are different from each
other and those of the one kind from those of the other, and that there is no
other third thing common to any of them ; but soul differs from body. Intelligent,
of course, we shall hold it to be, and the other unintelligent ; the one governs, the
other is governed ; and the one is cause of all things, while the other is incapable
of causing any of its experiences : so that to assert that the heavenly bodies
[983e] have come into existence through anything else, and are not the offspring,
as we have said, of soul and body, is great folly and unreason. However, if our
statements on all such existences are to prevail, and the whole order of them is to
be convincingly shown to be divine by their origin, we must certainly class them
as one or the other of two things : either we must in all correctness glorify them
as actual gods, [984a] or suppose them to be images produced as likenesses of
the gods, creations of the gods themselves. For they are the work of no mindless
or inconsiderable beings but, as we have said, we must class them as one or
other of these things ; and, if classed as the latter, we must honor them far above
all images : for never will fairer or more generally-known images be found among
all mankind, none established in more various places, more pre-eminent in purity,
majesty, and [984b] life altogether, than in the way in which their existence is
altogether fashioned.
Well then, for the present let us attempt so much in treating of the gods, as to try
— after observing the two living creatures visible to us, of which we call one
immortal, and the other, all earthy, a mortal creation — to tell of the three middle
things of the five, which come most evidently, according to the probable opinion,
between those two. For let us consider ether as coming next after fire, and let us
hold that soul fashions from it live creatures with their faculties, as it does
creatures from the other kinds of element, [984c] each being for the most part of
that one nature, but in its lesser parts derived from the other elements for the
sake of connection. After ether, there is fashioned by soul another kind of
creature from air, and the third kind from water ; and by having produced all
these it is likely that soul filled the whole heaven with creatures, having made use
of all the elements so far as it could, and all the creatures having been made
participators in life ; but the second, third, fourth, and fifth kinds, which took their
first origin from what are manifest gods, [984d] end finally in us men.
Now the gods — Zeus and Hera and all the rest — each man must regard in what
light he pleases, though according to the same law, and must take this account as
reliable. But as our visible gods, greatest and most honorable and having keenest
vision every way, we must count first the order of the stars and all else that we
perceive existing with them ; and after these, and [984e] next below these, the
divine spirits, and air-born race, holding the third and middle situation, cause of
interpretation, which we must surely honor with prayers for the sake of an
auspicious journey across. We must say of either of these two creatures — that
which is of ether and, next to it, of air — that it is not entirely plain to sight : when
it is near by, it is not made manifest to us ; [985a] but partaking of extraordinary
intelligence, as belonging to an order which is quick to learn and strong in
memory, we may say that they understand the whole of our thoughts, and show
extraordinary kindness to anyone of us who is a good man and true, and hate
him who is utterly evil, as one who already partakes of suffering. For we know
that God, who has the privilege of the divine portion, is remote from these
affections of pain and pleasure, but has a share of intelligence and knowledge in
every sphere ; and the heaven being filled full of live creatures, [985b] they
interpret all men and all things both to one another and to the most exalted
gods, because the middle creatures move both to earth and to the whole of
heaven with a lightly rushing motion. The kind which is of water, the fifth, we shall
be right in representing as a semi-divine product of that element, and it is at one
time seen, but at another is concealed through becoming obscure, presenting a
marvel in the dimness of vision.
So these [985c] five being really existent creatures, wherever any of us came upon
them, either happening upon them in the dream-world of sleep, or by something
spoken to persons listening in health, or equally in sickness, through ominous
utterances and prophecies, or again when they have arrived at the end of life
opinions that occur to us both in private and in public, whence many sanctities of
many beings have arisen, and others shall arise — in regard to all these the
lawgiver who possesses even the slightest degree of mind will never dare by
innovations to turn his city to a divine worship which is [985d] lacking in certainty.
Nor indeed will he put a stop to sacrifices on which the ancestral custom has
pronounced, when he knows nothing at all of the matter, just as it is not possible
for mortal nature to know about such things. And of the gods who are really
manifest to us the same statement must surely hold — that those men are most
evil who have not courage to tell and make manifest to us that these are likewise
gods, but without any frenzied rites, or any tribute of the honors that are their
due. But as things are, we have a strange conjunction [985e] of proceedings : for it
is as though one of us should see the sun or moon being born and all of us
looking on, and should utter no word through some impotence of speech, and
should not also at the same time be zealous, so far as in him lay, when they
lacked their share of honor, to bring them in all evidence to an honored place,
and cause festivals and sacrifices to be offered to them, and apportion to each a
reserved space of time for the greater or lesser length of its year, as may happen :
[986a] would it not be agreed both by himself and by another who observed it
that he would justly be described as an evil man ?
Cleinias : To be sure he would, my good sir ; nay, most evil.
Athenian : Well then, this, my dear Cleinias, is what, you may take it, has
evidently happened to me now.
Cleinias : How do you mean ?
Athenian : You know that there are eight powers of those contained in the whole
heaven which are cognate to each other : these I have observed, and it is no great
achievement ; for it is easy enough [986b] for anybody. Three of them are that of
the sun, for one, that of the moon for another, and a third that of the stars which
we mentioned a little while ago ; and there are five others besides. Now in regard
to all these and those beings who either have their own motion in these, or are
borne in vehicles so as to make their progress thus, let none of us all ever idly
suppose that some of them are gods, while others are not, or that some are
genuine, while others are of a certain kind which it is not permissible to any of us
even to express ; but let us all declare and say that they are all cognate [986c] and
have cognate lots, and let us render them due honor, not by giving to one a year,
to another a month ; but to none of them let us appoint either a certain lot or a
certain time in which it travels through its particular orbit, completing the system
which the divinest reason of all appointed to be visible. This first the man who is
blest admires, and then he feels a passion for understanding so much as is
possible for mortal nature, believing that thus he will best and most happily pass
through life, [986d] and at the end of his days will arrive at regions meet for
virtue ; and having been truly and really initiated, and won his individual
intelligence, and become for the rest of time a spectator of what is fairest, so far
as sight can go, in this state he continues.
And now after this it remains for us to say how many and who these beings are :
[986e] for we shall never be found to have spoken falsely. Thus far, at least, I
asseverate with certainty : I say, once more, that there are eight of them, and that
while three of the eight have been told, five yet remain. The fourth in motion and
transit together, and the fifth, are almost equal to the sun in speed, and on the
whole are neither slower nor swifter. These being three, must be so regarded by
him who has sufficient mind. So let us speak of them as powers of the sun and of
Lucifer, and of a third, such that we cannot express it in a name because it is not
known ; and he is to blame for this who first beheld these things, since he was a
foreigner : for it was an ancient custom that nurtured those who first [987a]
remarked these things owing to the fairness of the summer season which Egypt
and Syria amply possess, so that they constantly beheld the whole mass, one may
say, of stars revealed to their sight, since they had got then, continually without
obstruction of clouds and rains in the sky ; whence they have emerged in every
direction and in ours likewise, after having been examined for thousands of years,
nay, for an infinite time. And therefore we should not hesitate to include them in
the scope of our laws ; for to have divine things lacking honor, while other things
are honored, [987b] is clearly a sign of witlessness ; and as to their having got no
names, the cause of it should be stated as we have done. For indeed they have
received titles of gods : thus, that Lucifer, or Hesperus(which is the same), should
almost belong to Aphrodite, is reasonable, and quite befitting a Syrian lawgiver ;
and that that which follows the same course as the sun and this together should
almost belong to Hermes. Let us also note three motions of bodies travelling to
the right with the moon and the sun. One must be mentioned, the eighth, which
we may especially address as the world-order, and which travels in opposition to
the whole company of the others, not impelling them, as might appear to
mankind in the scant knowledge that they have of these matters. But we are
bound to state, [987c] and do state, so much as adequate knowledge tells us. For
real wisdom shows herself in some such way as this to him who has got even a
little share of right and divine meditation. And now there remain three stars, of
which one is distinguished from the others by its slowness, and some speak of it
under the title of Saturn ; the next after it in slowness is to be cited as Jupiter ;
and the next after this, as Mars, which has the ruddiest hue of all. Nothing in all
this is hard to understand [987d] when someone expresses it ; but it is through
learning, as we declare, that one must believe it.
But there is one point which every Greek should bear in mind — that of all Greeks
we have a situation which is about the most favorable to human excellence. The
praiseworthy thing in it that we have to mention is that it may be taken as
midway between a wintry and a summery climate ; and our climate, being inferior
in its summer to that in the region over there, as we said, has been so much later
in imparting the cognizance of these cosmic deities. And let us note that [987e]
whatever Greeks acquire from foreigners is finally turned by them into something
nobler ; and moreover the same thing must be borne in mind regarding our
present statements — that although it is hard to discover everything of this kind
beyond dispute, there is hope, [988a] both strong and noble, that a really nobler
and juster respect than is in the combined repute and worship which came from
foreigners will be paid to all these gods by the Greeks, who have the benefit of
their various education, their prophecies from Delphi, and the whole system of
worship under their laws. And let none of the Greeks ever be apprehensive that
being mortals we should never have dealings with divine affairs ; they should
rather be of the quite opposite opinion, that the divine is never either
unintelligent or in any ignorance of [988b] human nature, but knows that if it
teaches us we shall follow its guidance and learn what is taught us. That it so
teaches us, and that we learn number and numeration, it knows of course : for it
would be most utterly unintelligent if it were ignorant of this ; since it would truly,
as the saying is, be ignorant of itself, vexed with that which was able to learn,
instead of whole-heartedly rejoicing with one who became good by God’s help.
And indeed there is much good reason to suppose that formerly, [988c] when
men had their first conceptions of how the gods came to exist and with what
qualities, and whence, and to what kind of actions they proceeded, they were
spoken of in a manner not approved or welcomed by the wise, nor were even the
views of those who came later, among whom the greatest dignity was given to
fire and water and the other elements, while the wonderful soul was accounted
inferior ; and higher and more honored with them was a motion assigned to the
body for moving itself by heat and chills and everything of that kind, [988d]
instead of that which the soul had for moving both the body and itself. But now
that we account it no marvel that the soul, once it is in the body, should stir and
move about this and itself, neither does our soul on any reckoning mistrust her
power of moving about any weight. And therefore, since we now claim that, as
the soul is cause of the whole, and all good things are causes of like things, while
on the other hand evil things are causes of other things like them, it is no marvel
[988e] that soul should be cause of all motion and stirring — that the motion and
stirring towards the good are the function of the best soul, and those to the
opposite are the opposite — it must be that good things have conquered and
conquer things that are not their like.
All this we have stated in accordance with justice, which wreaks vengeance on the
impious : but now, as regards the matter under examination, it is not possible for
us to disbelieve that we must deem the good man [989a] to be wise ; and let us
see if we may perhaps be able, either by education or by art, to perceive this
wisdom which we have all this while been seeking ; for if we fall behind the just in
failing to know it, our condition will be that of ignorant persons. Such, then,
seems our case to me, and I must say so : for I have sought this wisdom high and
low, and so far as it has been revealed to me I will try to render it plain to you.
Now the fact that the greatest part of virtue is not properly practiced is the cause
of our condition, as is just now indicated — it seems clear to me — by what has
been said. [989b] For let no one ever persuade us that there is a greater part of
virtue, for the race of mortals, than piety ; and I must say it is owing to the
greatest stupidity that this has not appeared in the best natures. And the best are
they which can only become so with the greatest difficulty, and the benefit is
greatest if they do become so : for a soul that admits of slowness and the
opposite inclination moderately and gently will be good-tempered ; and if it
admires courage, and is easily persuaded to temperance, and, most important of
all, is enabled [989c] by these natural gifts to learn and has a good memory, it will
be able to rejoice most fully in these very things, so as to be a lover of learning.
For these things are not easily engendered, but when once they are begotten,
and receive due nourishment and education, they will be able to restrain the
greater number of men, even the worse among us, in the most correct way by
our every thought, every action, and every word about the gods, in due manner
and due season, as regards both sacrifices and purifications in matters
concerning gods and men alike, so that we are contriving no life of pretence,
[989d] but truly honoring virtue, which indeed is the most important of all
business for the whole state. That section of us, then, we say is naturally the most
competent, and supremely able to learn the best and noblest lessons that it may
be taught : but it cannot get this teaching either, unless God gives his guidance.
If, however, it should be so taught, but should fail in some way to do accordingly,
it were better for it not to learn.
Nevertheless it follows of necessity from our present statements, that I agree that
the nature which is of this kind, and the best, should learn certain things. [989e]
Let us try, then, to set forth in our statement what things these are, and of what
kind, and how one should learn — so far as our ability permits both me the
speaker and those who are able to hearken — [990a] in what manner one will
learn the proper reverence of the gods.
It is, indeed, a rather strange thing to hear ; but the name that we, at any rate,
give it — one that people would never approve, from inexperience in the matter
— is astronomy ; people are ignorant that he who is truly an astronomer must be
wisest, not he who is an astronomer in the sense understood by Hesiod and all
the rest of such writers, the sort of man who has studied settings and risings ; but
the man who has studied the seven out of the eight orbits, each travelling over its
own circuit in such a manner as [990b] could not ever be easily observed by any
ordinary nature, that did not partake of a marvellous nature. As to this, we have
now told, and shall tell, as we profess, by what means and in what manner it
ought to be learnt ; and first let us make the following statement.The moon
travels through its orbit very swiftly, bringing first the month and full-moon ; and
in the second place we must remark the sun, with his turning motion through the
whole of his orbit, and with him his satellites. But to avoid repeating again and
again the same things on the same subjects [990c] in our discussion, the other
courses of these bodies that we have previously described are not easily
understood : we must rather prepare our faculties, such as they may possibly be,
for these matters ; and so one must teach the pupil many things beforehand, and
continually strive hard to habituate him in childhood and youth.
And therefore there will be need of studies : the most important and first is of
numbers in themselves ; not of those which are corporeal, but of the whole origin
of the odd and the even, and the greatness of their influence on the nature of
reality. [990d] When he has learnt these things, there comes next after these what
they call by the very ridiculous name of geometry, when it proves to be a
manifest likening of numbers not like one another by nature in respect of the
province of planes ; and this will be clearly seen by him who is able to understand
it to be a marvel not of human, but of divine origin. And then, after that, the
numbers thrice increased and like to the solid nature, and those again which have
been made unlike, he likens by another art, namely, that which [990e] its adepts
called stereometry ; and a divine and marvellous thing it is to those who envisage
it and reflect, how the whole of nature is impressed with species and class
according to each analogy, as power and its opposite continually turn [991a]
upon the double. Thus the first analogy is of the double in point of number,
passing from one to two in order of counting, and that which is according to
power is double ; that which passes to the solid and tangible is likewise again
double, having proceeded from one to eight ; but that of the double has a mean,
as much more than the less as it is less than the greater, while its other mean
exceeds and is exceeded by the same portion of the extremes themselves.
Between six and [991b] twelve comes the whole-and-a-half (9=6+3) and wholeand-a-third
(8=6+2) : turning between these very two, to one side or the other,
this power (9) assigned to men an accordant and proportioned use for the
purpose of rhythm and harmony in their pastimes, and has been assigned to the
blessed dance of the Muses.
In this way then let all these things come to pass, and so let them be. But as to
their crowning point, we must go to divine generation and therewith the fairest
and divinest nature of visible things, so far as God granted the vision of it to
men ; a vision that none of us may ever boast of having received at his leisure
[991c] without the conditions here laid down. And besides these requirements,
one must refer the particular thing to its generic form in our various discussions,
questioning and disproving what has been wrongly stated ; for it is rightly found
to be altogether the finest and first of tests for the use of men, while any that
pretend to be tests, without being so, are the vainest of all labors. And further, we
must mark the exactness of time, how exactly it completes all the processes of
the heavens, in order that he who is convinced of [991d] the truth of the
statement which has been made — that the soul is at once older and more divine
than the body — might believe it a most admirable and satisfactory saying that
all things are full of gods, and that we have never been disregarded in the least
through any forgetfulness or neglect in our superiors. And our view about all
such matters must be that, if one conceives of each of them aright, it turns out a
great boon to him who receives it in a proper way ; but failing this, he had better
always call it God. The way is this — [991e] for it is necessary to explain it thus far :
every diagram, and system of number, and every combination of harmony, and
the agreement of the revolution of the stars must be made manifest as one
through all to him who learns in the proper way, and will be made manifest if, as
we say, a man learns aright by keeping his gaze on unity ; [992a] for it will be
manifest to us, as we reflect, that there is one bond naturally uniting all these
things : but if one goes about it in some other way, one must call it Fortune, as
we also put it.
For never, without these lessons, will any nature be happy in our cities : no, this is
the way, this the nurture, these the studies, whether difficult or easy, this the path
to pursue : to neglect the gods is not permissible, when it has been made
manifest that the fame of them, stated in proper terms, hits the mark. [992b] And
the man who has acquired all these things in this manner is he whom I account
the most truly wisest : of him I also assert, both in jest and in earnest, that when
one of his like completes his allotted span at death, I would say if he still be dead,
he will not partake any more of the various sensations then as he does now, but
having alone partaken of a single lot and having become one out of many, will be
happy and at the same time most wise and blessed, whether one has a blessed
life in continents or in islands ; and that such a man will partake [992c] always of
the like fortune, and whether his life is spent in a public or in a private practice of
these studies he will get the same treatment, in just the same manner, from the
gods.
And what we said at the beginning, and stands now also unchanged as a really
true statement, that it is not possible for men to be completely blessed and
happy, except a few, has been correctly spoken. For as many as are divine and
temperate also, and partakers of virtue as a whole in their nature, [992d] and have
acquired besides all that pertains to blessed study — and this we have explained
— are the only persons by whom all the spiritual gifts are fully obtained and held.
Those then who have thus worked through all these tasks we speak of privately,
and publicly establish by law, as the men to whom, when they have attained the
fullness of seniority, the highest offices should be entrusted, while the rest should
follow their lead, giving praise to all gods and goddesses ; and we should most
rightly invite the Nocturnal Council to this wisdom, when we have duly
distinguished and approved [992e] all its members.

THE END

The Complete Works of Plato - Part 7