Complete Works (258 page)

T
IMAEUS
: Yes.

[d] S
OCRATES
: And we followed nature in giving each person only one occupation, one craft for which he was well suited. And so we said that only those whose job it was to wage war on everyone’s behalf should be the guardians of the city. And if some foreigner or even a citizen were to go
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against the city to cause trouble, these guardians should judge their own subjects lightly, since they are their natural friends. But they should be harsh, we said, with the enemies they encountered on the battlefield.

T
IMAEUS
: Yes, absolutely.

S
OCRATES
: That’s because—as I think we said—the guardians’ souls should have a nature that is at once both spirited and philosophical to the highest degree, to enable them to be appropriately gentle or harsh as the case may be.

T
IMAEUS
: Yes.

S
OCRATES
: What about their training? Didn’t we say that they were to be given both physical and cultural training, as well as training in any other appropriate fields of learning?

T
IMAEUS
: We certainly did.

[b] S
OCRATES
: Yes, and we said, I think, that those who received this training shouldn’t consider gold or silver or anything else as their own private property. Like the professionals they are, they should receive from those under their protection a wage for their guardianship that’s in keeping with their moderate way of life. And we said that they should share their expenses and spend their time together, live in one another’s company, and devote their care above all to excellence, now that they were relieved of all other occupations.

T
IMAEUS
: Yes, we said that as well.

[c] S
OCRATES
: And in fact we even made mention of women. We said that their natures should be made to correspond with those of men, and that all occupations, whether having to do with war or with the other aspects of life, should be common to both men and women.

T
IMAEUS
: That, too, was discussed.

S
OCRATES
: And what did we say about the procreation of children? We couldn’t possibly forget that subject, because what we said about it was so unusual. We decided that they should all have spouses and children in common and that schemes should be devised to prevent anyone of them [d] from recognizing his or her own particular child. Everyone of them would believe that they all make up a single family, and that all who fall within their own age bracket are their sisters and brothers, that those who are older, who fall in an earlier bracket, are their parents or grandparents, while those who fall in a later one are their children or grandchildren.

T
IMAEUS
: You’re right. That really was an unforgettable point.

S
OCRATES
: And surely we also remember saying, don’t we, that to make their natures as excellent as possible right from the start, the rulers, male and female, should secretly arrange marriages by lot, to make sure that [e] good men and bad ones would each as a group be separately matched up with women like themselves? And we said that this arrangement wouldn’t create any animosity among them, because they’d believe that the matching was due to chance?

T
IMAEUS
: Yes, we remember.

S
OCRATES
: And do we also remember saying that the children of the
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good parents were to be brought up, while those of the bad ones were to be secretly handed on to another city? And that these children should be constantly watched as they grew up, so that the ones that turned out deserving might be taken back again and the ones they kept who did not turn out that way should change places with them?

T
IMAEUS
: We did say so.

S
OCRATES
: So now, Timaeus, are we done with our review of yesterday’s talk—at least with its main points—or are we missing some point we made then? Have we left anything out?

T
IMAEUS
: Not a thing, Socrates. This is exactly what we said. [b]

S
OCRATES
: All right, I’d like to go on now and tell you what I’ve come to feel about the political structure we’ve described. My feelings are like those of a man who gazes upon magnificent looking animals, whether they’re animals in a painting or even actually alive but standing still, and who then finds himself longing to look at them in motion or engaged in some struggle or conflict that seems to show off their distinctive physical qualities. I felt the same thing about the city we’ve described. I’d love to [c] listen to someone give a speech depicting our city in a contest with other cities, competing for those prizes that cities typically compete for. I’d love to see our city distinguish itself in the way it goes to war and in the way it pursues the war: that it deals with the other cities, one after another, in ways that reflect positively on its own education and training, both in word and deed—that is, both in how it behaves toward them and how it negotiates with them. Now on these matters, Critias and Hermocrates, I [d] charge myself with being quite unable to sing fitting praise to our city and its men. That this should be so in my case isn’t at all surprising. But I have come to have the same opinion of the poets, our ancient poets as well as today’s. I have no disrespect for poets in general, but everyone knows that imitators as a breed are best and most adept at imitating the sort of things they’ve been trained to imitate. It’s difficult enough for any one of them to do a decent job of imitating in performance, let alone in narrative [e] description, anything that lies outside their training. And again, I’ve always thought that sophists as a class are very well versed in making long speeches and doing many other fine things. But because they wander from one city to the next and never settle down in homes of their own, I’m afraid their representations of those philosopher-statesmen would simply miss their mark. Sophists are bound to misrepresent whatever these leaders accomplish on the battlefield when they engage any of their enemies, whether in actual warfare or in negotiations.

So that leaves people of your sort, then. By nature as well as by training you take part in both philosophy and politics at once. Take Timaeus here.
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He’s from Locri, an Italian city under the rule of excellent laws. None of his compatriots outrank him in property or birth, and he has come to occupy positions of supreme authority and honor in his city. Moreover, he has, in my judgment, mastered the entire field of philosophy. As for Critias, I’m sure that all of us here in Athens know that he’s no mere layman in any of the areas we’re talking about. And many people whose testimony must surely be believed assure us that Hermocrates, too, is [b] well qualified by nature and training to deal with these matters. Already yesterday I was aware of this when you asked me to discuss matters of government, and that’s why I was eager to do your bidding. I knew that if you’d agree to make the follow-up speech, no one could do a better job than you. No one today besides you could present our city pursuing a war that reflects her true character. Only you could give her all she requires. So now that I’m done speaking on my assigned subject, I’ve turned the tables and assigned you to speak on the subject I’ve just described. You’ve [c] thought about this together as a group, and you’ve agreed to reciprocate at this time. Your speeches are your hospitality gifts, and so here I am, all dressed up for the occasion. No one could be more prepared to receive your gifts than I.

H
ERMOCRATES
: Yes indeed, Socrates, you won’t find us short on enthusiasm, as Timaeus has already told you. We don’t have the slightest excuse for not doing as you say. Why, already yesterday, right after we had left here and got to Critias’ guest quarters where we’re staying—and even [d] earlier on our way there—we were thinking about this very thing. And then Critias brought up a story that goes back a long way. Tell him the story now, Critias, so he can help us decide whether or not it will serve the purpose of our assignment.

C
RITIAS
: Yes, we really should, if our third partner, Timaeus, also agrees.

T
IMAEUS
: Of course I do.

C
RITIAS
: Let me tell you this story then, Socrates. It’s a very strange one, but even so, every word of it is true. It’s a story that Solon, the wisest of [e] the seven sages once vouched for. He was a kinsman and a very close friend of my great-grandfather Dropides. Solon himself says as much in many places in his poetry. Well, Dropides told the story to my grandfather Critias, and the old man in his turn would tell it to us from memory. The story is that our city had performed great and marvelous deeds in ancient times, which, owing to the passage of time and to the destruction of human life, have vanished. Of all these deeds one in particular was magnificent.
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It is this one that we should now do well to commemorate and present to you as our gift of thanks. In so doing we shall also offer the goddess a hymn, as it were, of just and true praise on this her festival.
¹

S
OCRATES
: Splendid! Tell me, though, what was that ancient deed our city performed, the one that Solon reported and old Critias told you about? I’ve never heard of it. They say it really happened?

C
RITIAS
: I’ll tell you. It’s an ancient story I heard from a man who was no youngster himself. In fact, at the time Critias was pretty close to ninety [b] years old already—so he said—and I was around ten or so. As it happened, it was the day of the presentation of children during the Apaturia.
²
On this occasion, too, we children got the customary treatment at the feast: our fathers started a recitation contest. Many compositions by many different poets were recited, and many of us children got to sing the verses of Solon, because they were new at the time. Now someone, a member of our clan, said that he thought that Solon was not only the wisest of men [c] in general, but that his poetry in particular showed him to be the most civilized of all the poets. (The man may have been speaking his mind, or else he may have just wanted to make Critias feel good.) And the old man—how well I remember it—was tickled. He grinned broadly and said, “Yes, Amynander, it’s too bad that Solon wrote poetry only as a diversion and didn’t seriously work at it like the other poets. And too bad that he never finished the story he’d brought back home with him from Egypt. He was forced to abandon that story on account of the civil conflicts and all the other troubles he found here when he returned. Otherwise not even [d] Hesiod or Homer, or any other poet at all would ever have become more famous than he. That’s what
I
think, anyhow.” “Well, Critias? What story was that?” asked the other. “It’s the story about the most magnificent thing our city has ever done,” replied Critias, “an accomplishment that deserves to be known far better than any of her other achievements. But owing to the march of time and the fact that the men who accomplished it have perished, the story has not survived to the present.” “Please tell us from the beginning,” said the other, “What was this ‘true story’ that Solon heard? How did he get to hear it? Who told him?”

“In Egypt,” Critias began, “in that part of the Delta where the stream [e] of the Nile divides around the vertex there is a district called the Saïtic. The most important city of this district is Saïs. (This is in fact also the city from which King Amasis came.) This city was founded by a goddess whose name was ‘Neith’ in Egyptian and (according to the people there) ‘Athena’ in Greek. They are very friendly to Athens and claim to be related to our people somehow or other. Now Solon said that when he arrived there the people began to revere him. Furthermore, he said that when he asked
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those priests of theirs who were scholars of antiquity about ancient times, he discovered that just about every Greek, including himself, was all but completely ignorant about such matters. On one occasion, wanting to lead them on to talk about antiquity, he broached the subject of our own ancient history. He started talking about Phoroneus—the first human being, it is [b] said—and about Niobe, and then he told the story of how Deucalion and Pyrrha survived the flood. He went on to trace the lines of descent of their posterity, and tried to compute their dates by calculating the number of years which had elapsed since the events of which he spoke. And then one of the priests, a very old man, said, ‘Ah, Solon, Solon, you Greeks are ever children. There isn’t an old man among you.’ On hearing this, Solon said, ‘What? What do you mean?’ ‘You are young,’ the old priest replied, ‘young in soul, every one of you. Your souls are devoid of beliefs about antiquity handed down by ancient tradition. Your souls lack any learning [c] made hoary by time. The reason for that is this: There have been, and there will continue to be, numerous disasters that have destroyed human life in many kinds of ways. The most serious of these involve fire and water, while the lesser ones have numerous other causes. And so also among your people the tale is told that Phaethon, child of the Sun, once harnessed his father’s chariot, but was unable to drive it along his father’s course. He ended up burning everything on the earth’s surface and was destroyed himself when a lightning bolt struck him. This tale is told as a [d] myth, but the truth behind it is that there is a deviation in the heavenly bodies that travel around the earth, which causes huge fires that destroy what is on the earth across vast stretches of time. When this happens all those people who live in mountains or in places that are high and dry are much more likely to perish than the ones who live next to rivers or by the sea. Our Nile, always our savior, is released and at such times, too, saves us from this disaster. On the other hand, whenever the gods send floods of water upon the earth to purge it, the herdsmen and shepherds [e] in the mountains preserve their lives, while those who live in cities, in your region, are swept by the rivers into the sea. But here, in this place, water does not flow from on high onto our fields, either at such a time or any other. On the contrary, its nature is always to rise up from below. This, then, explains the fact that the antiquities preserved here are said to be the most ancient. The truth is that in all places where neither inordinate
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cold nor heat prevent it, the human race will continue to exist, sometimes in greater, sometimes in lesser numbers. Now of all the events reported to us, no matter where they’ve occurred—in your parts or in ours—if there are any that are noble or great or distinguished in some other way, they’ve all been inscribed here in our temples and preserved from antiquity on. In your case, on the other hand, as in that of others, no sooner have you achieved literacy and all the other resources that cities require, than there again, after the usual number of years, comes the heavenly flood. It sweeps [b] upon you like a plague, and leaves only your illiterate and uncultured people behind. You become infants all over again, as it were, completely unfamiliar with anything there was in ancient times, whether here or in your own region. And so, Solon, the account you just gave of your people’s lineage is just like a nursery tale. First of all, you people remember only one flood, though in fact there had been a great many before. Second, you are unaware of the fact that the finest and best of all the races of humankind once lived in your region. This is the race from whom you yourself, your whole city, all that you and your countrymen have today, are sprung, [c] thanks to the survival of a small portion of their stock. But this has escaped you, because for many generations the survivors passed on without leaving a written record. Indeed, Solon, there was a time, before the greatest of these devastating floods, when the city that is Athens today not only excelled in war but also distinguished itself by the excellence of its laws in every area. Its accomplishments and its social arrangements are said to have been the finest of all those under heaven of which we have received [d] report.’