Complete Works (244 page)

Necessarily.

Therefore, calculation, geometry, and all the preliminary education required for dialectic must be offered to the future rulers in childhood, and not in the shape of compulsory learning either.

Why’s that?

Because no free person should learn anything like a slave. Forced bodily [e] labor does no harm to the body, but nothing taught by force stays in the soul.

That’s true.

Then don’t use force to train the children in these subjects; use play instead. That way you’ll also see better what each of them is naturally fitted for.
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That seems reasonable.

Do you remember that we stated that the children were to be led into war on horseback as observers and that, wherever it is safe to do so, they should be brought close and taste blood, like puppies?

I remember.

In all these things—in labors, studies, and fears—the ones who always show the greatest aptitude are to be inscribed on a list.

[b] At what age?

When they’re released from compulsory physical training, for during that period, whether it’s two or three years, young people are incapable of doing anything else, since weariness and sleep are enemies of learning. At the same time, how they fare in this physical training is itself an important test.

Of course it is.

And after that, that is to say, from the age of twenty, those who are chosen will also receive more honors than the others. Moreover, the subjects they learned in no particular order as children they must now bring together [c] to form a unified vision of their kinship both with one another and with the nature of that which is.

At any rate, only learning of that sort holds firm in those who receive it.

It is also the greatest test of who is naturally dialectical and who isn’t, for anyone who can achieve a unified vision is dialectical, and anyone who can’t isn’t.

I agree.

Well, then, you’ll have to look out for the ones who most of all have this ability in them and who also remain steadfast in their studies, in war, [d] and in the other activities laid down by law. And after they have reached their thirtieth year, you’ll select them in turn from among those chosen earlier and assign them yet greater honors. Then you’ll have to test them by means of the power of dialectic, to discover which of them can relinquish his eyes and other senses, going on with the help of truth to that which by itself is. And this is a task that requires great care.

What’s the main reason for that?

Don’t you realize what a great evil comes from dialectic as it is currently [e] practiced?

What evil is that?

Those who practice it are filled with lawlessness.

They certainly are.

Do you think it’s surprising that this happens to them? Aren’t you sympathetic?

Why isn’t it surprising? And why should I be sympathetic?

Because it’s like the case of a child brought up surrounded by much wealth and many flatterers in a great and numerous family, who finds
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out, when he has become a man, that he isn’t the child of his professed parents and that he can’t discover his real ones. Can you divine what the attitude of someone like that would be to the flatterers, on the one hand, and to his supposed parents, on the other, before he knew about his parentage, and what it would be when he found out? Or would you rather hear what I divine about it?

I’d rather hear your views.

Well, then, I divine that during the time that he didn’t know the truth, he’d honor his father, mother, and the rest of his supposed family more than he would the flatterers, that he’d pay greater attention to their needs, [b] be less likely to treat them lawlessly in word or deed, and be more likely to obey them than the flatterers in any matters of importance.

Probably so.

When he became aware of the truth, however, his honor and enthusiasm would lessen for his family and increase for the flatterers, he’d obey the latter far more than before, begin to live in the way that they did, and keep company with them openly, and, unless he was very decent by nature, [c] he’d eventually care nothing for that father of his or any of the rest of his supposed family.

All this would probably happen as you say, but in what way is it an image of those who take up arguments?

As follows. We hold from childhood certain convictions about just and fine things; we’re brought up with them as with our parents, we obey and honor them.

Indeed, we do.

There are other ways of living, however, opposite to these and full of [d] pleasures, that flatter the soul and attract it to themselves but which don’t persuade sensible people, who continue to honor and obey the convictions of their fathers.

That’s right.

And then a questioner comes along and asks someone of this sort, “What is the fine?” And, when he answers what he has heard from the traditional lawgiver, the argument refutes him, and by refuting him often and in many places shakes him from his convictions, and makes him believe that the fine is no more fine than shameful, and the same with the just, the good, and the things he honored most. What do you think his attitude [e] will be then to honoring and obeying his earlier convictions?

Of necessity he won’t honor or obey them in the same way.

Then, when he no longer honors and obeys those convictions and can’t discover the true ones, will he be likely to adopt any other way of life than that which flatters him?
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No, he won’t.

And so, I suppose, from being law-abiding he becomes lawless.

Inevitably.

Then, as I asked before, isn’t it only to be expected that this is what happens to those who take up arguments in this way, and don’t they therefore deserve a lot of sympathy?

Yes, and they deserve pity too.

Then, if you don’t want your thirty-year-olds to be objects of such pity, you’ll have to be extremely careful about how you introduce them to arguments.

That’s right.

And isn’t it one lasting precaution not to let them taste arguments while they’re young? I don’t suppose that it has escaped your notice that, when [b] young people get their first taste of arguments, they misuse it by treating it as a kind of game of contradiction. They imitate those who’ve refuted them by refuting others themselves, and, like puppies, they enjoy dragging and tearing those around them with their arguments.

They’re excessively fond of it.

Then, when they’ve refuted many and been refuted by them in turn, they forcefully and quickly fall into disbelieving what they believed before. [c] And, as a result, they themselves and the whole of philosophy are discredited in the eyes of others.

That’s very true.

But an older person won’t want to take part in such madness. He’ll imitate someone who is willing to engage in discussion in order to look for the truth, rather than someone who plays at contradiction for sport. He’ll be more sensible himself and will bring honor rather than discredit [d] to the philosophical way of life.

That’s right.

And when we said before that those allowed to take part in arguments should be orderly and steady by nature, not as nowadays, when even the unfit are allowed to engage in them—wasn’t all that also said as a precaution?

Of course.

Then if someone continuously, strenuously, and exclusively devotes himself to participation in arguments, exercising himself in them just as he did in the bodily physical training, which is their counterpart, would that be enough?

[e] Do you mean six years or four?

It doesn’t matter. Make it five. And after that, you must make them go down into the cave again, and compel them to take command in matters of war and occupy the other offices suitable for young people, so that they won’t be inferior to the others in experience. But in these, too, they must be tested to see whether they’ll remain steadfast when they’re pulled this
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way and that or shift their ground.

How much time do you allow for that?

Fifteen years. Then, at the age of fifty, those who’ve survived the tests and been successful both in practical matters and in the sciences must be led to the goal and compelled to lift up the radiant light of their souls to what itself provides light for everything. And once they’ve seen the good itself, they must each in turn put the city, its citizens, and themselves in [b] order, using it as their model. Each of them will spend most of his time with philosophy, but, when his turn comes, he must labor in politics and rule for the city’s sake, not as if he were doing something fine, but rather something that has to be done. Then, having educated others like himself to take his place as guardians of the city, he will depart for the Isles of the Blessed and dwell there. And, if the Pythia agrees, the city will publicly establish memorials and sacrifices to him as a daemon, but if not, then as [c] a happy and divine human being.

Like a sculptor, Socrates, you’ve produced ruling men that are completely fine.

And ruling women, too, Glaucon, for you mustn’t think that what I’ve said applies any more to men than it does to women who are born with the appropriate natures.

That’s right, if indeed they are to share everything equally with the men, as we said they should.

Then, do you agree that the things we’ve said about the city and its [d] constitution aren’t altogether wishful thinking, that it’s hard for them to come about, but not impossible? And do you also agree that they can come about only in the way we indicated, namely, when one or more true philosophers come to power in a city, who despise present honors, thinking them slavish and worthless, and who prize what is right and the honors that come from it above everything, and regard justice as the most important [e] and most essential thing, serving it and increasing it as they set their city in order?

How will they do that?

They’ll send everyone in the city who is over ten years old into the country. Then they’ll take possession of the children, who are now free
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from the ethos of their parents, and bring them up in their own customs and laws, which are the ones we’ve described. This is the quickest and easiest way for the city and constitution we’ve discussed to be established, become happy, and bring most benefit to the people among whom it’s established.

That’s by far the quickest and easiest way. And in my opinion, Socrates, you’ve described well how it would come into being, if it ever did. [b]

Then, isn’t that enough about this city and the man who is like it? Surely it is clear what sort of man we’ll say he has to be.

It is clear, he said. And as for your question, I think that we have reached the end of this topic.

1
. Reading
parionta autous nomizein onomazein
in b5.

2
. Reading
hoia tis an ei
ē
phusei, ei
in c5.

3
.
Odyssey
xi.489–90.

4
. See 420b–421c, 462a–466c.

5
. See 511d–e.

6
. See 412b ff.

7
. Athenian statesman, lawgiver, and poet (c. 640–560).

Book VIII

Well, then, Glaucon, we’ve agreed to the following: If a city is to achieve
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the height of good government, wives must be in common, children and all their education must be in common, their way of life, whether in peace or war, must be in common, and their kings must be those among them who have proved to be best, both in philosophy and in warfare.

We have agreed to that, he said.

Moreover, we also agreed that, as soon as the rulers are established, [b] they will lead the soldiers and settle them in the kind of dwellings we described, which are in no way private but common to all. And we also agreed, if you remember, what kind of possessions they will have.

I remember that we thought that none of them should acquire any of the things that the other rulers now do but that, as athletes of war and guardians, they should receive their yearly upkeep from the other citizens [c] as a wage for their guardianship and look after themselves and the rest of the city.
¹

That’s right. But since we have completed this discussion, let’s recall the point at which we began the digression that brought us here, so that we can continue on the same path from where we left off.

That isn’t difficult, for, much the same as now, you were talking as if you had completed the description of the city.
²
You said that you would class both the city you described and the man who is like it as good, even [d] though, as it seems, you had a still finer city and man to tell us about.
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But, in any case, you said that, if this city was the right one, the others were faulty. You said, if I remember, that there were four types of constitution remaining that are worth discussing, each with faults that we should observe, and we should do the same for the people who are like them. Our aim was to observe them all, agree which man is best and which worst, and then determine whether the best is happiest and the worst most wretched or whether it’s otherwise. I was asking you which four constitutions you had in mind when Polemarchus and Adeimantus interrupted. [b]
³
And that’s when you took up the discussion that led here.

That’s absolutely right.

Well, then, like a wrestler, give me the same hold again, and when I ask the same question, try to give the answer you were about to give before.

If I can.

I’d at least like to hear what four constitutions you meant.

[c] That won’t be difficult since they’re the ones for which we have names. First, there’s the constitution praised by most people, namely, the Cretan or Laconian.
⁴
The second, which is also second in the praise it receives, is called oligarchy and is filled with a host of evils. The next in order, and antagonistic to it, is democracy. And finally there is genuine tyranny, surpassing all of them, the fourth and last of the diseased cities. Or can you think of another type of constitution—I mean another whose form is distinct from these? Dynasties and purchased kingships and other constitutions of that sort, which one finds no less among the barbarians than [d] among the Greeks, are somewhere intermediate between these four.